The Phoenix King: Book Three
by KeshaRocks
Summary: Roxas Skyes is on the run once again. Needing to flee his homeland, he must travel to Ivalice; a land that holds magic and mystery. And hopefully - answers. But just as Roxas learns of his destiny, his trial takes a brutal turn when an unthinkable event has him questioning everything - and everyone he knows. Lost and broken, will he have the courage to overcome his darkest demons?
1. Prologue

King Sephiroth stands in the archway to the foyer of the orphanage as he watches his beloved wife sit in the corner rocking chair and read to the children gathered at her feet. Some of them cling to the skirts of her ruby red dress as it flows out from the chair and down around the floor. Rather than participate, the king is contempt with simply standing aside and watching his wife. A guard is posted in each corner of the room, two outside by the doorway.

How she seemed to light up whenever she saw children. He would see that recognizable spark in her eyes which he feared she had lost since her third miscarriage. They had planted their third magnolia tree out in the royal garden, set with the other two who have already halfway grown, their flowers a delicate pink the fades out to white to the tip of the petals. They would've had two boys and one girl.

He'll never forget the day. Any of those days. Especially when he found his wife in the bathing chamber, blood staining the skirt of her nightgown and dribbling down her legs. She had locked the door, and in turn Sephiroth had bashed the door in; the hinges still not fixed to this day. He had found his wife in a small puddle of her blood, throwing soap containers and towels at him, yelling at him to leave. " _Why is there so much blood_?" she had asked through her state of hysteria. And all Sephiroth could do was let the servants pull him out of the bathroom, clean her up, and tuck her into their bed.

She now has one child on her lap, the others stare at her in awe as her long silver-green hair flows past her shoulders and spilling into her lap. Her pointed ears flick every few minutes and her exquisite features of her Elven heritage make her the prize of any man. How he had found such a beautiful woman is beyond him.

The star-shaped Thalassa shell charm around her neck glitter as the little girl on her lap take the charm in her tiny hand. Sephiroth tenses as he worries that the child could accidentally snap the chain, but his wife is already there taking the child's hand off and smiling calmly; like she knows what to do already.

King Sephiroth's heart simply hurts whenever he sees his wife interacting with children, simply because they both fear, or rather know already that they can't have one of their own yet. Ever since the second miscarriage, his beloved queen had suggested they adopt, they were plenty of children who would made a perfect heir, but the royal courts disagree, and argue that the heir must be of noble birth; this including nieces, nephews. They don't want the offspring of some bastard or bitch ruling the kingdom, disgraceful it would be. The king nearly shattered the oakwood table they were sitting at in the council room, if it weren't for his wife stopping his magic from devouring the room.

The homes they could give to the children. The hopes they can bring to many of those who suffer from hard times. Their kingdom might not be perfect, but it's clean, the guards provide safety and the citizens are loved as are the royal family loved by their citizens.

Now it would seem that the orphanage is her second home from the castle. Of course, the villagers were more than happy – jubilant, even – that the King and Queen of Ivalice themselves were taking the time to visit their little home nearly every day. Usually it was the Queen on her own, as Sephiroth had his duties to attend to; not that he minded much. Whatever his wife needed to cope and to heal, he will allow it.

Unfortunately, his presence at the castle is much more demanding than hers. King Sephiroth unfolds his arms and approaches the small group as his queen starts to read a story about a lion cub and how he befriends a meerkat and warthog. The children all stiffen as the queen looks up from the book – a colorful fairytale book – and smiles.

The King leans in and kisses his beloved's eyebrow. "I shall see you soon, my darling." He whispers.

"As to you, my pet." She replies.

The King nods to the group of children as he walks out of the door. He gives his regards to the caretakers as several of his guards stand straighter as he walks down the aisle they create. King Sephiroth gets into the gold and white carriage and lets the driver take him back to the palace.

Even with hours of scribbling papers and attending council meetings – of which he hears the same concern of Assassin Guild's traveling from city to city, fearing they'll come for the continent of Ivalice, King Sephiroth can only think and worry about his future and the future of the continent.

For the past ten years, ever since the slaughter of the Elven kind back in Kingdom Hearts, concern for the heir of the kingdom of Ivalice has always been the topic of discussion. Their attempts have resulted in heartbreak, they can't adopt according to the council, and even the siblings – of both the king and queen alike – have children already, but only to rule their kingdoms of the continent. They have attempted all over, from the coastlines of Romanda, to the neighboring kingdom of Ordallia, then further east to Galtea, south to Kerwon, and even to the mothering kingdom Valendia. Each rulers sends their condolences and regards, but they can't send their own children.

What's even more disconcerting is having that of a child that is of Elven heritage. Since the slaughter in Kingdom Hearts, most of the Elves and fairies and Fae denizens in general fled to Ivalice for sanctuary. And though the continent is fairly divided in the population of mortals and Fae, the mortals still fear the Elven inhabitants simply due to the basic knowledge of higher skill, senses and power of magic. With the kingdom so easily divided, to have a child of Elven and mortal heritage is a rarity, especially of two Elven parents.

King Sephiroth thinks back to the chaos; the smell of the fires that raged through his twelve and thirteen years; the smoke of burning books chock-full of ancient, irreplaceable knowledge, the screams of gifted seers and healers as they'd been consumed by the flames, the storefronts and sacred places shattered and desecrated and erased from history. Many of the magic-users who hadn't been burned wound up prisoners in death camps – and most didn't survive long there.

After he signs the last contract, the King dismisses himself back to his chambers, where he finds his beloved in bed and snuggled into the sheets. Over on her end table he finds arts and crafts of crayon drawings, and small origamis made from the children of the orphanage. Placing a delicate kiss on her forehead, Sephiroth saunters towards his study where he shuts the door.

There is something else that catches his attention and King Sephiroth has thought about since it had happened at least a week ago. There was a cry, a plea of some kind. He could sense the trouble on the wind, and then he felt a wave of heat wash over him. He was in the council room when is happened.

His advisor was speaking of a problematic pest situation in the middle district, and as the King was about to suggest his solution, a hot flash came over him; so much that he felt his forehead moistening with sweat. He quickly excused himself and disappeared into an empty hallway where he placed his hands flat against the wall and breathed.

The cool breeze he crafted breathed onto his forehead, he heard the crackling of ice under his palm and conducted them up his arms and enveloping his heated body. The ice of his powers cracked all the way through his body, and relief flooded Sephiroth as he shivered from the chill. And then he imagined the source of the heat. His thoughts transported him to a land far from Ivalice. He could sense the heat of the fire, and the fear of its conductor.

Just a day prior to that, there was a strange ripple in the kingdom that nearly everyone had felt.

King Sephiroth and his Queen were strolling through the marketplace of the wealthy, and while he was waiting outside for his wife to finish her shopping in the show shop, he looked up to the sky, straying from his conversation with a florist, and saw the sky had grey clouds in the distance.

And then, just from a small breeze and a kiss from the heat of the covered sun, the King began the cry. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and his ears perked as he could've sworn he heard a delicate voice singing to hi, to his kingdom. A song of loss, of mourning and of agony. Soon, the King opened his lips and began to sing too. Then the florist, then bystanders, and then the whole kingdom was singing in mourning.

Sephiroth shakes his head. He takes a book from the expansive collection he has in his study and takes a seat in the corner by the floor-to-ceiling window. It only takes the few turning of pages before he falls asleep in the plush armchair.

Sephiroth dreams. He's walking through an open hallway of his castle garden, the sky is overcast and a thin fog dwindles through the shrubs. He looks all around, the whispers of his black cloak the only other sounds other than his footsteps. He walks through the castle like he always did, but he seems to feel on edge. His Elven ears point erect as he catches the sound of the slightest movement. But admittedly even that was hard to locate as the perpetrator's feet were incredibly nimble.

And then the Elven King looks ahead, and he sees the shadow. The shadow darts down the hallway and into the stone tunnel-way deep into the castle. The king immediately bolts after the figure, his fangs baring in hatred and his feet nimble like a stag out on the plains. This idiot can't possibly think to outrun an Elven King.

Sephiroth sprints after the figure, but is disturbed to find himself having a difficult time keeping up with the figure. The tunnel seems endless as he continually chases after the figure. He doesn't bother to say anything, simply keeping his mind focused on catching the intruder. He sees a black cloak flowing behind the figure, a cowl and hood hiding his head and a mask covering his face. Sephiroth growls.

Is this what a Guild member looks like? While Sephiroth's knowledge was limited on the Guilds in Kingdom Hearts and their high influence, he knows of the different levels of the Guilds. And the most powerful Guild . . .

Sephiroth increases his speed and gain up on the figure. He begins to hear the ragged breathing of the figure as he glimpses over his shoulder and gasps, close to screaming. While it is highly cynical of him, Sephiroth sometimes enjoyed the fear and intimidation the Elves sometimes produce off to the mortals. But this . . . this, boy . . .? He is of a young age, his height that of a late adolescent. This young man keeps well away, his feet as fast as Sephiroth's. He can't possibly be totally human, and while half-elves aren't rare . . . this boy . . .

The King increase his speed and manages to gain up to the young man, but he catches the small flash of the boy's eyes and –

Sephiroth reaches out his hand as he is close enough to feel the whip of the boy's cloak. He reaches out his hand and grabs the boy's shoulder.

He turns the boy to him and –

The King awakens, jolting up from his desk. His shaking hand scatters papers, flurrying them around his desk. He breathes heavy and evenly, his heart racing. He holds his hand over his heart and simply stares at the papers. Quickly, he gets to his feet and cracks open the doors the separate his study from the rest of his chambers. His wife is still soundly asleep in bed; her silver blonde hair glinting in the moonlight.

Sephiroth closes the doors and bends down to pick up the papers. A loose page has fallen from a book, and he is too tired to organize it. He picks up the paper, setting it top the small pile he taps into place.

But he notices a poem scribbled at the top of a family tree, as though some student had dashed it down as a reminder while studying. Or perhaps words of a song, but the first word was smudged out, perhaps an accident of the writer's palm.

. . . _Eyes_

 _The fairest eyes, from legend old_

 _Of brightest blue, ringed with gold_.

Bright blue eyes, ringed with gold. He thinks nothing of it, looking up into a mirror set on the wall and sees the turquoise of his eyes. But then, for a moment, he doesn't see himself, but someone else . . .

A strangled cry comes out of him. The memory hits him like a brick to the face.

That figure . . . that boy . . .

* * *

Roxas sprints through the darkness of a secret passageway, his breathing ragged. He glances over his shoulder to find his mother grinning at him, her eyes like burning coals.

No matter how fast he runs, her stalking gait easily keeps her just behind Roxas. After her flows a wake of glowing green arcane marks, their strange shapes and symbols illuminating the ancient blocks of stone. And behind Tifa, its long nails scraping against the ground, lumbers a Heartless.

Roxas stumbles, but remains upright. Each step feels like he is wading through mud. He can't escape her. She will catch him eventually. And once the heartless gets hold of him . . . Roxas doesn't dare glace again at those too-big teeth that jut out its mouth or those fathomless eyes, gleaming with the desire to devour him bit by bit.

There's a chuckle, the sound grating on the stone walls. It's not Tifa. It's male, it's deep, and it is close now. Close enough that his fingers rake against the nape of Roxas' neck. He whispers his name, his true name, and Roxas screams as he –

Roxas awakens with a gasp, clutching the hilt of Oblivion pressed to his chest. Roxas scans the room for denser shadows, for glowing eyes, for signs that his mother or creature were not in the room. There is only the flickering of the lantern's light on the wall.

Roxas sinks back into his pillows. It was just a nightmare. Tifa and the Faceless are gone, and no weird male creature is bothering him. It is over.

Artemis, sleeping under the many layers of blankets, puts her head on Roxas' stomach. Roxas nestles down farther, wrapping his arms around the dog as he closes his eyes.

It is over.


	2. Part One: Armies of Darkness

**~EDITED – This is an edited chapter, and credit for inspiration goes to Sarah J. Mass and her incredible epic-fantasy series** _ **Throne of Glass**_ **. I encourage you to read it! Enjoy!~**

 **~Part One – Armies of Darkness~**

* * *

It's so annoyingly hot in this kingdom that Roxas is surprised his skin was melted to the tiles of the terra cotta roof. And he's been lying here for hours; since midmorning actually.

With his arm flung over his eyes, he can feel himself baking like the loaves of garlic bread that local cafes and middle class citizens keep on the windowsills. The restaurants do it to draw in customers to try their new foods, and as for the citizens, it's just their own stupidity; and that results in Roxas swiping it.

Only now, after a handful of weeks snacking on it, Roxas is sick of garlic bread. It was immensely tasty to begin with, but now he hates the way the basil tickles his tongue, and the horrid aftertaste that no amounts of water or wine can wash away.

The bread is all he has been snacking on when he landed in Ivalice a month ago today and make his way to the capital city, Lesalia, just as he'd been ordered by his Grand Imperial Majesty and Master of the Earth, his father Cloud Skyes.

Roxas has resorted to swiping garlic bread and wine off vendors' carts since he's been having an itch in the back of his head for some excitement. Not long after he'd taken one look at the rather beautiful city houses and stores and homes, at the elite guards, at the cobalt banners flapping so proudly in the dry hot wind did he decide _not_ to kill any more people. The city seemed prosperous enough, to the point that he didn't want to ruin it.

So it's just been living in Reno's mansion with his crewmen, and snatching garlic bread . . . and wine. The sour red wine from the vineyards lining the rolling hills around the walled capital – a taste he had initially spat out but now very, very much enjoyed. Especially since the day when he decided that he didn't particularly care about anything at all.

At first, he had simply started sneaking down into Reno's wine cellar and swiping a bottle, taking a few sips, but then it gradually grew to a bottle and a half three nights a week. When Reno discovered this, and put a lock on the door, one he made sure Roxas couldn't pick, Roxas then resorted to traveling into town to the lowest of the low taverns where they wouldn't care how old he was. But boy was he wrong.

He still remembers the look on everyone's face when he had stabbed a security man's eye after he denied Roxas entry. In his own terms, Roxas threw a bit of a tantrum and the man's eye getting stabbed was just an unfortunate accident. The barman didn't ask questions, and the security man survived, and now they welcome Roxas whenever he pleases.

The assassin reaches for the terra-cotta tiles sloping behind him, groping for the silver stein of wine he had hauled onto the roof that morning. Patting, feeling for it, and then –

Roxas swears. Where the hell is the wine?

The world tilts and goes blindingly bright as he hoists himself onto his elbows. Seagulls circle above, keeping well away from the purple-tailed hawk that has been perched atop a nearby chimney all morning, waiting to snatch up its next meal. Roxas thought it was a strange sight at first, but his care deflated in a manner of seconds.

Below, the market street is a brilliant loom of color and sound, full of braying donkeys, merchants waving their wares, clothes both foreign and familiar, and the clacking of wheels against the pale cobblestones. But where in hell is the –

Ah. There it is. Tucked beneath one of the heavy red tiles to keep cool. Just where he had stashed it hours before, when he had climbed onto the roof of an artist's shop to survey the perimeter of Reno's luxurious mansion two blocks away. Or whatever he had thought sounded official and useful before he'd realized that he'd rather sprawl in the shadows. Shadows that have long since been burned away by that relentless Ivalice sun.

Roxas swigs from the stein of wine – or tried to. It is empty, which he supposed is a blessing, because _gods_ his head feels so light. He needs water, and maybe an apple for once. Who knows, maybe the vendor will spot him and he can finally challenge these pristine guards he sees prancing around the streets. And perhaps something for the gloriously painful split lip and scraped cheekbone he had earned last night in one of the city's taverns.

Groaning, Roxas rolls onto his belly and surveys the street forty feet below. He knew the guards patrolling it by now – have marked their faces and weapons, just as he had with the guards atop the high walls of the fort. He has memorized their rotations, and how they open the three massive gates that lead into the castle. It seems that the Gainsboroughs and their ancestors take safety very, very seriously. There is no castle here – the legendary marble castle of King Sephiroth Gainsborough being in Valendia – and with Valendia being the near biggest country of Ivalice, they have forts posted in the rest of the other kingdoms.

It has been a month since he had arrived in Lesalia itself, after hauling ass from the coast. Not because he was particularly eager to find Axel's brother, but because the city is so damn large that is seems his best chance of dodging the immigration officials, who he had given the slip instead of registering with their oh-so-benevolent work program. Hurrying with his men to the capital had also provided welcome activity after weeks at sea, where Roxas hadn't felt like doing anything other than lying on the narrow bed in his cramped cabin or sharpening his weapons with a near-religious zeal.

 _Witness true power_ , Tifa had said to him.

Every slice of the whetting stone had echoed it. _Power, power, power_. The word had trailed him each league across the ocean.

He had made a vow – a vow to stop his blood spillage. So in between moments of despair and rage and grief, in between thoughts of Axel and Roxas' secret Elven heritage and all he had left behind and lost, Roxas had decided on one plan to follow when he reached these shores. One plan, however stupid and unlikely, to stop killing in the name of the shadows; find and obliterate every criminal and lowlife that infested this kingdom – if any. He would gladly let himself get arrested to carry it out.

But, in Ivalice, there isn't much. Just petty thieves and unskilled mercenaries. But small steps are small steps. But it's just them, and just him. Just as it should be; no loss of life beyond their own, no soul stained but his. It will take a monster to destroy a monster.

How different he is from the boy his father had raised as a child. A boy who was cold, heartless, everything an Assassin King should be, that is until Roxas mistakenly stumbled onto the ship of a pirate captain, Axel. The spikey haired, redheaded that had snatched Roxas' heart while in the midst of their travels. Even caused him to rebel against his father and foolishly join up with his psychotic mother and her assassins named Faceless. But that was a grave mistake as well, finding out his mother is alive after years of believing she was dead, Roxas had fled to her in hopes of escaping his father. But Roxas had found out that his mother was even worse than his father, as she had revealed to him a secret of Roxas' heritage that she had used to nearly flatten half of Twilight Town.

His heritage . . . a curse that he had never wished he had discovered. His strength of Elven gene and his power of magic that not even he knew he had possessed. But his mother knew, and his father; but at least his father was humane enough to keep Roxas from even thinking about it. For years he had turned Roxas into a killer to make the idea not even come into Roxas' mind. His mother, though . . . Once she had found out, she used it completely to his advantage. She had created a serum that she had injected into Roxas to gain control over him and use him as a killing machine. The lives he ended, the blood that coated his body –

And once Roxas regained control, with the help of his father, he had fled the continent of Kingdom Hearts to Ivalice. His father had hopes that Roxas would find other Elves of his species and they would train him to control his power, but Roxas doesn't want to control it. He wants nothing to do with it. He had locked the elven warrior away with thick chains in his heart and burned the key into ash. He doesn't even want to think about letting it go.

If he has to be here because of his father's misplaced good intentions, then at least he'd receive the answers he needs. There is only one person in Kingdom Hearts who had been present when the Guilds were merely groups of shadowy stories told to keep children in line. Even back when the Elves themselves had conducted themselves into the different classes of society. Queen Rydia of the Elves. Rydia knew everything – as is expected when you are older than dirt.

Still, it's like restarting. Here he is a no one, or at least a person of legend. The rumors and news of the Guilds and their influence in Kingdom Hearts is well-known enough that the citizens of the Ivalice continent are paranoid enough to fear the shadows at night, walking armed with extra weapons and ready with spare money.

It's the least Roxas can do. For Ventus – for . . . for a lot of other people. There is nothing left in him, not really. Only ash and an abyss and the unbreakable vow Roxas had carved into his flesh, to the friend who had seen Roxas for what he truly is.

When they had docked at the largest port in Ivalice, Roxas couldn't help but admire the caution the ship took while coming to shore – waiting until a moonless night, then stuffing Roxas and his crew and the other refugees from Kingdom Hearts in the galley while navigating the secret channels through the barrier reef. It is understandable: the reef is the main defense keeping Kerwon's legions from these shores.

There is the other task lingering in the back of his mind: to find out the meaning of that riddle his father had told him on the docks of Twilight Town.

Roxas did know, he just knew, that a part of it had to do with his Elven heritage. While he didn't want to use his Elven side, _ever_ again, a part of him did itch to try and control it. Seeing other fully-fledged Elven men and women in the kingdom, most of them knights and guards, it did intrigue him to wonder how he could possibly use his "other half" without ripping an entire town's population in half. But Roxas shoved all those thoughts aside when they had docked and the refugees had been herded ashore for processing by the port's officials.

Roxas and his men had slipped through the crow, surprisingly well given they had to carry Axel on a stretcher. They had wound up on the road to the capital as soon as he was certain his men were all right. After they had gotten settled in at Reno's mansion, since there was nothing Roxas could do, he occupied his time and his mind by browsing around the marketplace.

It had all been fine – fine and easy. Hiding in abandoned buildings and houses along the way, they passed like shadows through the countryside.

Ivalice. A land of myths and monsters – of legends and nightmares made flesh.

The kingdom itself is a spread of warm, rocky canyons and thick forests, growing ever greener as hills rolls inland and sharper into towering peaks. The coast and the land around the capital are dry, as if the sun had baked all but the hardiest vegetation. Vastly different from the soggy, frozen empire Roxas had left behind.

A land of plenty of opportunity, where men didn't just take what they wanted, where no doors are locked and people smile at you in the streets. But Roxas doesn't particularly care if someone does or does not smile at him – no, as the days wore on, he found it suddenly very difficult to bring himself to care about anything at all.

Whatever determination, whatever rage, whatever _anything_ he'd felt upon leaving Kingdom Hearts has ebbed away. Devoured by the nothingness that now gnaws at him.

It was four days before Roxas spotted the massive capital city built across the foothills. Lesalia Imperial Capital. For some reason, Roxas wished they were in Valendia, the city where Queen Lilian had been born; the vibrant heart of the kingdom. He hadn't even seen or dreamt of the Queen since he had left Kingdom hearts, and now he missed even her company.

While Lesalia is cleaner than Twilight Town and has plenty of wealth spread between the upper and lower classes, it is a capital city all the same, with slums and back alleys, whores and gamblers – and it hadn't taken too long to find its underbelly.

On the street below, three of the market guards pause to chat at a local tailor, and Roxas rests his chin on his hands, his arms hugging his knees. Like every guard in this kingdom, each is clad in light armor and bears a good number of weapons.

Rumor claims the Ivalicean soldiers were actually elves of Valendia sent out from the capital. And they are ruthless and cunning and swift. And Roxas doesn't want to know if that was true, for about a dozen different reasons.

But still, while he is in Lesalia, he wishes to travel to Valendia, as that is the home of the elves. The creatures of which he needs help from, not some more mortals and mere small scatterings of elves, but a population of elves themselves.

They certainly seem a good deal more observant than the average Twilight Town sentry – even if they hadn't yet noticed the assassin in their midst. But these days, Roxas knew the only threat he poses is to himself.

Even baking in the sun each day, even washing up whenever he feels like it in one of the mansion's many marble bathrooms, Roxas can still feel Demyx's blood soaking his skin, into his hair. Even with the constant noise and rhythm of Lesalia, Roxas can still hear Demyx's groan as he gutted him in the garden of his mother's castle back in Traverse Town. And even with the wine and heat, Roxas can still see Axel, horror contorting his face at what he had had learned about Roxas' Elven heritage and the monstrous power that could easily destroy Roxas, about how hollow and dark Roxas is inside.

Roxas often wonders whether or not what could happen if he does figure out the riddle, and had discovered that truth his father had told him about . . . Roxas never lets himself get that far. Now wasn't the time for thinking about Cloud, or the truth, or any of the things that had left Roxas' soul so limp and weary.

Roxas tenderly prods his split lip and frowns at the market guards, the movement making his mouth hurt even more. He had deserved that particular blow in the brawl he had provoked in last night's tavern – he had kicked a man's balls into his throat, and when he had caught his breath, he had been enraged, to say the least. They didn't take bribes from the merchants, or bully or threaten with fines like the guards and officials in Twilight Town. Every official and soldier he had seen so far had been similarly . . . good.

The same way Sephiroth Gainsborough, the King of Ivalice, is good.

Dredging up some semblance of annoyance, Roxas sticks out his middle finger. At the guards, at the market, at the hawk on the nearby chimney, at the strong fortress and the captain who lives inside it. He wishes that he had not run out of wine so early in the day.

A cooling breeze pushes past, bringing with it the spices from the vendors lining the nearby street – parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. He inhales deeply, letting the scents clear his sun-and-wine-addled head. The pealing of bells floats down from one of the neighboring mountain towns, and in some square of the city, a minstrel band strikes up a merry midday tune. Ventus and Demyx would've loved this place; hell, it could eve bring a smile to Maleek's face.

That fast, the world slips, swallows up by the abyss that now lives within him. None of them will ever see Ivalice. Never wander through the spice market or hear the mountain bells. A dead weight presses on Roxas' chest.

It has seemed like such a perfect plan when he had arrived in the Imperial Capital. In the hours he had spent figuring out hub worlds of the criminals, he had debated how he would find the gangs and the guilds.

The only other thing he can do to occupy his mind and his time was learn about the Elves; seeing as how all of his books, as well as Axel's had been left all the way back in Kingdom Hearts, trapped in the glass castle. The home of the Faceless and the staple building of Traverse Town. But gods can screw that.

It had all been going smoothly, flawlessly – just hunt down the criminals and kill them all – until . . .

Until that gods-damned day when Roxas had cornered a local assassin on a rooftop. Until Sephiroth Gainsborough had come riding in through the city's gates, in full view of where Roxas had been perched on the roof of a noblemen's house.

It hadn't been the sight of him, with his ivory skin and silver hair, that had stopped Roxas dead. It hadn't been the fact that, even from a distance, he could see his catlike turquoise eyes – _identical_ to Roxas' eyes, the reason why Roxas usually wore a hood in the streets.

No. It had been the way people cheered.

 _Cheered_ for him, the Valendian king. Not even they're king and they cheered! They adored him, with his dashing smile and his light armor gleaming in the endless sun, as he and the soldiers behind him rode towards the north coats to continue blockade running. _Blockade running_. The king is a gods-damned blockade runner against Kingdom Hearts, and his people _loved_ him for it.

After he made sure to gut the local assassin and hand his head on the gutters, Roxas had trailed the king and his men through the city, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, and all it would have taken was one arrow through those turquoise eyes and he would have been dead. But Roxas followed him all the way to the city walls, the cheers growing louder, people tossing flowers, everyone beaming with pride for their perfect, perfect king.

Roxas had reached the city gates just as they opened to let him through. An when Sephiroth Gainsborough rode off into the sunset, off to war and glory and to fight for good and freedom, Roxas lingered on that roof until the king was a speck in the distance.

Then Roxas had walked into the nearest tavern and gotten into the bloodiest, most brutal brawl he had ever provoked, until the city guard was called in and Roxas had vanished moments before everyone was tossed into the stocks. And then Roxas decided, as his nose bled down the front of his shirt and he spat blood onto the cobblestones, that he wasn't going to do _anything_.

When he had arrived at Reno's mansion, the blood still flowing from his nose, after receiving a severe tongue lashing of swears and lectures from Vanitas and Riku, Roxas only asked for a simple tissue before sauntering off towards the chamber room holding Axel, who is still asleep since their departure of Twilight Town. Roxas always keeps a constant vigilance on Axel, waiting for him to wake up. He would sit there all day, usually. It's already been a month, blood pressure is stabilized, pulse is strong, and he still hasn't shown any signs of movement apart from even, peaceful breaths.

There is no point to Roxas' plans. Sephiroth and Maleek would have led the world to freedom, and Maleek should have been breathing. Together the king and the boy could have defeated the plague of assassins. But Maleek is dead, and Roxas' vow to Ventus – his stupid, pitiful vow – is worth as much as mud when there are beloved fighters like Sephiroth who can do so much more. Roxas had been a fool to make that vow.

Even Sephiroth – Sephiroth was barely making a dent against Kerwon's forces, and he had an entire army at his disposal. Roxas is one person, one complete waste of life. They didn't need him.

They didn't need him for anything. He can't be an assassin, he can't be a hero. He can't do anything.

Apart from he guard's, Roxas still hasn't seen one of the Elves – not a single damn one – or the faeries, or even a lick of magic. He has done his best to avoid it. Even before he spotted Sephiroth, he had kept away from the market stalls that offered everything from healing to trinkets to potions, areas that are usually full of street performers or mercenaries trading their gifts to earn a living. Roxas has learned which taverns the magic-wielders liked to frequent and never went near them. Because sometimes he feels a tickling, writhing _thing_ awaken in his gut if he catches a crackle of its energy.

It has been a week since he had given up on his plan and abandoned any attempt to care at all. And Roxas suspects it will be many weeks more before he decides he is truly sick of garlic bread, or brawling every night just to feel something, or guzzling sour wine as he lies on rooftops all day.

But his throat is parched and his stomach is grumbling, so Roxas slowly peels himself off the edge of the roof. Slowly, not because of those vigilant guards, but rather because his head is well and truly spinning. He doesn't trust himself to care enough to prevent a tumble.

Roxas glares at the thin scar stretching across his palm as he shimmies down the drainpipe and into the alley off the mansion driveway. It is now nothing more than a reminder of the pathetic promise he had made at Ventus' half-frozen grave over a month ago, and of everything and everyone else he had failed. Just like his gold ring – the ring that Axel had given to him as a sign of their bond – which Roxas gambles away every night and wins back before sunrise.

Despite all that has happened, and his own role in Axel's coma, even after Roxas feels like he has destroyed what there was between them, Roxas hasn't been able to forfeit his ring. Roxas has lost it thrice now in card games, only to get it back – by whatever means necessary. A dagger poised to slip between the ribs usually does a good deal more convincing than actual words.

Roxas supposes it is a miracle he makes it down to the street, where the shadows momentarily blind him. He braces a hand on the cool stone wall, letting his eyes adjust, willing his head to stop spinning. With a misstep, Roxas had ended up in a back alley of the marketplace, the wrong step over the wall that separates the mansion's property line from the rest of the land.

A mess – he is a gods-damned mess. He wonders when he will bother to stop being one.

The tang and reek of the woman hits Roxas before he sees her. Then wide, yellowed eyes are in his face, and a pair of withered cracked lips part to hiss. "Slattern! Don't let me catch you in front of my door again!"

Roxas pulls back, blinking at the vagrant woman – and at her door, which . . . is just an alcove in the wall, crammed with rubbish and what has to be sacks of the woman's belongings. The woman herself is hunched, her hair unwashed and teeth a ruin of stumps. Roxas blinks again, the woman's face coming into focus. Furious, half-mad, and filthy.

Roxas holds up his hands, backing away a step, then another. "Sorry."

The woman spits a wad of phlegm onto the cobblestone an inch from Roxas' dusty boots. Failing to muster the energy to be disgusted or curious, Roxas would have walked away had he not glimpsed himself as her raises his dull gaze from the glob.

Dirty clothes – stained and dusty and torn. Not to mention, he smells _atrocious_ , and this vagrant woman has mistaken him for . . . for a fellow vagrant, competing for space on the streets.

He still wears the clothes he had left Kingdom Hearts, blood-dripped with smears of dirt and dust. His hair – of which he had stupidly allowed his psychotic mother to dye a chocolate brown – has washed away to a light golden brown, and his roots are starting to grow. The small blonde dots are starting to reclaim their place on his scalp, and Roxas is more than happy to revel his blonde hair again. Anything to get rid of the mud-brown that so easily reminds him of his mother.

Well. Wasn't that just _wonderful_. An all-time low, even for him. Perhaps it'd be funny one day, if he bothers to remember it. He can't recall the last time he laughed.

At least she can take some comfort in knowing that it can't get worse.

If it weren't for the emptiness inside him, along with that pathetic promise he made to Ventus that he wouldn't kill anyone anymore, Roxas would've easily spilled her guts onto the street. But instead, as fast as his tipsy body can allow, he draws his dagger and jabs the hilt into the side of her head, and she collapses onto the ground. After rummaging through her things, he could only acquire a flask of fountain water.

Drinking it to minimize his thirst, Roxas trudges back around the wall and towards the mansion. Its red-brick exterior was different than the brown and white of the village. Its three stories with a wraparound porch, and balconies. The only similarity it has with the town is the terracotta roof. Vines creep up the left side of the house, clinging to the chimney.

Roxas does his best to keep his walking steady as his cloak flaps in the breeze that tickles his hair. He pays no heed to any of the merchants or citizens he passes by, still they clear him a path; most likely due to his stench.

Making his way up to the mansion's driveway, Roxas wipes his nose with the back of his hand as he pushes open the double oak doors, of which have no guards outside. Normally he would've complained, but this isn't a Guild mansion. Reno is just a normal citizen here.

The moment Roxas walks through the doors, a long red carpet muffles his footsteps. The mansion foyer goes straight back into a living room with two split staircases on either side; then open balconies revealing doors deeper into the home. A large crystal chandelier hangs at the center of the ceiling, flickering with bright orange candles.

As Roxas takes off his cloak and hangs it on the thin coatrack by the door, he's suddenly grabbed from behind, his hands getting pinned behind his back.

"Hey!" Roxas screams. He immediately starts to thrash, but the powerful muscles holding his wrist, shift and then Roxas is hoisted up over a shoulder. He continually pounds on his perpetrator's back, but he only sees the red of the carpet as he's hauled up the stairs. Then the next thing he knows, he's plunked down with a splash of warm water and sweet smelling bubbles.

Roxas bursts through the surface and gasps for breath, coughing as some water is swallowed down his windpipe. He rubs his eyes and turns to his left to find his abductor with one hand on his hip and a damning frown on his face. The moment Roxas recognizes the ember-gold eyes and the dark black spikes around his head, Roxas doesn't stop the hiss that escapes his lips.

He summons his energy as best he can. "Vanitas, what the hell?!"

"Well you weren't going to take a bath on your own anytime soon, and I'm tired of having to put on my mask whenever you walk by. Not to mention it's seeping into the furniture of the mansion." His lifelong companion spits. He folds his arms and glares at Roxas, but Roxas can still see the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

Roxas snarls, but quickly frowns as he lowers his head to the water of the tub. Because Vanitas was smart enough to plop hi in fully clothed, the water is already hazy.

"I'll give you a chance to change. Just turn the lever upwards when you want more water." Vanitas says, Roxas looks up and watches as Vanitas turns and walks out of the door. His back muscles expand and contract underneath his blue tunic as he opens the door and closes it softly behind him.

Roxas just sits there for a moment, letting the warm water cocoon his skin. From his ribs up, it is exposed and he shivers harshly. Removing his dirtied clothes and shoes, Roxas turns the faucet handle upwards like Vanitas had said, and soon more warm water pours from the faucet, steaming as it replaces the tainted water.

Dumping his soaked clothes into the sink, Roxas takes the three steps it takes to get down to the tub, and settles himself up to his neck in water and suds. The tub is a beautiful white marble, just like the rest of the bathroom with a thin, set in the middle of the bathroom. There's a white lace curtain pulled aside though meant for privacy, though there's no point since there are balcony doors located in the back, and overlooking the sea just beyond. Another crystal chandelier hangs overhead, matching the smaller scones on the wall around the mirrors on both sides of the room.

Nestled in the circular tub, vanilla scented candles lit in the corners of the dais, Roxas debates on scrubbing himself, but he's so warm now and possibly relaxed that he simply rests his head back. His body slides slightly until the water level is just below his nose. Roxas closes his eyes, trying to let the scent drive away his repulsive odor. But then the door opens again and back is Vanitas with a couple folded, white towels in hand. He sees Roxas and his shoulders drop. Another disappointed frown. Unphased and uncaring, Roxas turns his head away to face the wall. To stare at a vase of lily flowers in full bloom poised next to a bowl of popery.

Looks like Reno's trading with Axel has certainly paid off is the expensive decorations and deigns aren't significant enough.

Roxas listens as Vanitas makes his way around the bathtub and sets the downs down in the corner. He walks his way into Roxas' peripherals, and Roxas turns his head. "Roxas, come on. Can you even clean yourself?"

"I didn't care enough to bathe in the first place. What do you think?"

Vanitas sighs and sits on the edge of the dais. "Roxas, what happened? You seemed so, determined beforehand. But then we got here, and you ran off, then the next thing we know, you come home with a bloody nose and no ambition. Now look at you."

Roxas curls into himself, not wanting to hear Vanitas' lecture that he's already heard before. And once is enough. And with that woman in the alcove . . .

"If you're going to give me a lecture, then just leave now and let me bathe in peace." Roxas snaps.

"If I do that, you'll turn into a raison by the time I get back. Look, you can't keep expecting me to baby you." Vanitas says.

"I never asked you to in the first place." He has to be drunk – still drunk or descending to a new level of apathy – if he's talking to his only other true friend like this.

And it's true. In a way, Vanitas was Roxas' caretaker and rock since they reached the shore of Ivalice. He would bring Roxas breakfast when Roxas didn't feel like getting out of bed, he would lay with Roxas in bed when he was screaming from nightmares of Elves and demon creatures. He would read some stories to Roxas whenever they were in the library, the only place that Roxas ever get out of bed for. And he would hold Roxas for as long as he wanted, or until Roxas finally felt safe enough to fall asleep. If it weren't for Vanitas, what would Roxas be? Admittedly, Roxas is grateful, even if he did beat up Vanitas for hiding away the wine. Vanitas still having a scar on his chin as proof.

Vanitas merely sighs and shakes his head. Roxas shifts slightly as Vanitas exits his peripheral vision momentarily then there's light shuffling of bottles and drawers, the running of sink water and then he's back with a wet rag smothered in bubbles. "Lean forward." Vanitas orders softly.

Roxas bubbles the water with his lips before he lifts his shoulder out of the water, earning a shivering of goose bumps. He leans forward, enough to rest his chin on his knees, and soon feels the warm rag on his back, moving up and down and in circular motions. The rag traces all along his back, and over his shoulder slightly before Vanitas dips the rag in the water and wrenching it out. He takes Roxas' chin and angles his head upwards before delicately starting to scrub and wipe the assassin's cheeks. He then takes a porcelain pitcher and dunks it into the water then pouring it slowly on Roxas' head, running his fingers through the boy's hair as he does.

Vanitas does this repetitive motion until Roxas' skin is clean and his hair feels less greasy. Still, it takes serval rounds to clean the grim off of Roxas, Vanitas having to replace the water twice. But even when he has Roxas clean, an impressive accomplishment if he does say so himself, he still lets the assassin stay in the now clear water. Even if he knew Roxas might just get it wet again, Vanitas dries off the boy's hair with a towel.

He then says. "Please tell me you'll stop. Please." Vanitas says

But Roxas can't stop, even as the gods and the lord or the threads of fate readied to shove him back towards his original plans of action.

He can't. And he doesn't really want to. Just the past few minutes of interaction have drained him completely.

He doesn't want to stop.

What utterly troubles Roxas the most, or possibly not, is that it didn't unnerve him as much as it should have.


	3. Chapter 2

Later that day, in the warm afternoon sun and cicadas singing in the trees, Roxas hurls a stick across the wide field of the backyard of Reno's mansion. Artemis takes off through the green grass like a bolt of golden lightning, so fast that Roxas lets out a low, appreciative whistle. Besides him, Sora clicks his tongue, his eyes on the swift hound.

After receiving his forced bath from Vanitas, he only wrapped a towel around Roxas before leaving the room. Though he wouldn't tell Vanitas, Roxas did enjoy feeling clean, as well as the smooth motions of his hand as Vanitas washed his upper body. When Roxas left the steaming warm bathroom, he merely found a simple green tunic with gold embroidery and brown trousers, then simple brown leather hunting boots.

Roxas didn't do much after getting dressed, simply wandering over to the balcony and sitting on the patio furniture until Sora decided to stop by. Whether it was because of Vanitas' recommendation or because he merely wanted to, Roxas doesn't care. But it was only because of Sora's innocent look of persuasion did Roxas bother to leave his room with Artemis out towards the backyard.

"It's nice to see you cleaned up a little bit. I had forgotten what you normally smell like." Sora tries to amuse. Roxas merely exhales through his nose, the sound barely audible in the breeze that brushes their clothes.

Artemis reaches the stick and trots back to them, her long tail wagging. Even though she still wasn't fully grown, the dog is already abnormally large. Vanitas still never said what breed, exactly, he suspected her mother had mated with. Given Artemis's size, it could have been a wolfhound. Or an actual wolf.

Roxas stares at the dog, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It wasn't by choice, if you want honestly. Vanitas quite literally plonked me into the bathtub."

"It seems like him to be that bold. Though highly unlike you to let him ambush you."

Roxas shrugs again just as Artemis returns and demands the stick be thrown again. "Apparently not. Apparently my skills have diminished along with my care. And it would seem that I'm nothing more than a vagrant."

"Who said that?!" Sora's face reddens slightly.

"No one. Well . . . no one directly." Roxas says, throwing the stick as far as he can into the emerald green field. Artemis shoots off, grass blades and small spouts of dirt crunching beneath her hugs paws. "But, between you and me, I was mistaken by a woman for being one of her own."

"How rude." Sora says sharply.

Roxas frowns. "Not like I was a sight to steer her wrong."

"Well I would hope your skills proved her otherwise." There is a tense pause. "I'm sorry. I had forgotten your . . ."

"I still managed to knock her unconscious" Roxas tells. "Though I doubt she'll miss her canteen of fountain water." Though for someone of that vagrant woman's status, anything she owns is a treasure, and perhaps just waking up for another day is either a gift, or a heartache. It pains and severely irritates Roxas on how he can so easily understand that feeling.

And all of this – every day he does nothing, every day he lies impotent and broken – just emphasize show pathetic he has become. But it's not like he wants to go back to the boy who was the Prince of the Underworld.

Sora shakes his head but doesn't reply. Whenever the servant boy or Vanitas or even Reno looks at him like that, it is almost too much to bear. But what else can Roxas do? He's reduced himself to nothing after giving his stupid oath on Ventus' grave. His oath not to kill another person out of smite, but for justice. His oath to not steal, or brawl, or kill or bleed an innocent's blood again. An oath that he is slowly breaking into pieces with every brawl he gets into at the tabernas, with every sip of wine he takes until the world becomes dull and blurry.

He is a pathetic excuse of the boy he had once known.

Sora begins wringing his hands, and his eyes grow distant. Roxas has seen that expression often in the past month. "I still haven't killed a single man since we arrived; and I don't want you to think that I'm substituting that with these fights –"

"I don't." Sora says. "But I still worry for you, Roxas."

"I understand." Roxas' stomach clenches. For some odd reason, Roxas doesn't mind it much when Sora talks about his pathetic state of being unlike everyone else. Roxas knew the reason is there, floating somewhere in his mind but he just can't grasp it. Could it be because Sora is doing more than just stating the obvious and dwindling Roxas' energy? Or could it be that Roxas can sense still genuine concern for Roxas unlike the other who merely give him disappointed expressions.

But Sora says. "Roxas, please . . . You are my dearest friend. And please know that I worry for you constantly. While I respect your privacy, I need to know – I _want_ to know – what it is that has happened to you?" Artemis again returns, and it is Sora who takes the stick from the dog's mouth and chucks it into the blue sky. "I mean, I know what has happened to you, I know what you have been through –"

"No, you don't." Roxas mumbles softly.

Sora swallows slightly. "I might have only caught a glimpse of what your life was like, but it was enough for me to see that you a patchwork of scars; not just physically, but emotionally."

Roxas clenches his fists and his throat tightens. If Sora keeps this up, he will surely cry. But if he were to try, Roxas just knows he will shatter into the millions of pieces he feels he is built of. Sometimes Roxas always thinks that the veins in his arms are like the fissures that represent how damaged he is.

"I know that what I saw, it was probably _nothing_ compared to the stories and anguish that wail inside you." Sora says, now toying with the nonexistent dirt under his fingernails. "But I still want to _help you_. In any way that I can please, tell me; what can I _do_?"

Roxas blushes at the brooding in Sora's voice. Artemis returns again, but when Sora takes the stick, the servant boy keeps it in his hands.

"I hate seeing you like this, Roxas. You seemed so determined to help your father and stop the Guilds; but the something happened. And I don't know what but . . . if this has anything to do with your Elven heritage . . ."

"What do you want from me, Sora? I've been forced to flee my home, my mother was a psychopath, my father is miles away from me. Axel is a in a coma because of me and I killed two of the people who I actually cared about, and who cared about me! And I have a curse set upon me that I fear and can't seem to control. It's all my fault, Sora! It's all me! I'm the problem!"

Sora's lip trembles, and he's about ready to drop the stick and walk away, but the last thing Roxas needs is the feeling of someone else abandoning him.

Roxas swallows hard. "And it's because of this that I am afraid to get close to you, or anyone else in fear that they might die because of me. But if you want to help me," Roxas starts, making sure to keep his voice in check. "then just keep being my friend."

Sora looks to the assassin with a perplexed look. When Roxas meets his eyes, Sora finds the blue gleaming with tears. Artemis sits at their feet, tail wagging as she waits for the stick to be thrown.

Roxas lets out a long sigh. "Just keep treating as you have been, before you found out what I am. Treat me . . . like I'm _human_." His throat tightens and Roxas coughs as a couple tears fall down his cheeks. "Treat me like I'm not some monster who you saw tear people to shreds; who you saw kill their own friend with no remorse. Whose fire devoured nearly a third of the town without care of who got hurt. Treat like I'm still your friend back at the castle."

His knees quake and Roxas' cheeks are warm with his tears that fall steadily now. He readies to feel the dewdrop grass beneath his knee, as he hears Sora drop the stick on the ground. But the next thing he feels is the boy's arms as they wrap around his neck. Roxas stiffens as he feels Sora shudder slightly.

"Of course you're still my friend." Sora whimpers. "I never did see you any different."

Roxas embraces Sora, but all too soon the boy pulls back and wipes Roxas' cheeks with his thumbs.

"I won't deny, you did terrify me. But you have nothing to apologize for. Your mind was not your own. This was your mother's doing. You had no control."

Roxas sniffs. "No. I could see and feel what I was doing, but I had no control. I was just, floating. Floating in darkness. It was terrifying."

Sora leans in and presses their foreheads together. For a moment, Roxas feels strangely peaceful filling his mind with Sora's scent and letting it eliminate all thoughts of Elves, magic and murder. Roxas takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose.

"I won't ask you to let it go, I have no such right. But I ask that you try to find that determination; that drive that I saw that you had when we left. You had a mission and you were going to seek it out. What made it go away?"

There's a pause and Roxas can only swallow, shaking his head.

And then Sora says, "Don't let that light go out."

The numbness snaps. And Roxas chokes.

 _Ventus_.

Roxas lowers his head and holds back another sob that chokes him. His shoulders sag heavily and he turns his head away. "If you'll excuse me." He barely mumbles before turning away and quickly making his way off towards the mansion. He passes Luxord and Xigbar out on the veranda, the two of them engaged in a game of cards, not sparing Roxas a word.

As Sora watches the young boy disappear into the house, Artemis sits before him, her tail slashing through the long grass. But the hound doesn't whine or bark for the stick to be thrown.

No, Artemis just keeps sitting there, watching the mansion behind them. Waiting for Roxas. Sora stares across the barren field, listening to the sighing grasses. With a sharp intake of breath, he picks up the stick and hurls it as hard as he can, so far it blends in with the tall wheat grass just beyond. He doesn't hear it land.

Artemis turns to look up at Sora, her golden eyes full of question. Sora reaches down to stroke the warm head, the long ears, the slender muzzle. But the question remains.

Sora says. "He's not coming back today."

The dog keeps waiting.

Despite his eyes only aiming at his feet, Roxas already has the entire map of the castle imprinted in his mind. His body brings him to the only room that matches the silence that dwells deeply within him.

Prodding his sore lip with the tip of his fingers, Roxas stares at Axel's sleeping body as it peacefully inhales, and exhales. The thin white sheet covers up to his waist, and his shirt has been removed to allow easier access to the gauze bandages that wrap around his chest and over one shoulder. His features are soft, relaxed and Roxas couldn't sworn Axel has the ever so slightest smile on his lips.

But he sleeps almost like a statue. There's no twitching of his fingertips, no movements of his legs, not even his eyelids show signs of Axel's eyes shifting behind them. No, he merely sleeps peacefully, locked in a dream world where he can escape the troubles of the world.

" _If you go, then so will I_ ,"

That's what Axel had said to him on the night he had taken Roxas out for dinner on his birthday. Roxas had asked what would happen if something were to . . . go wrong while they fled. Axel had promised to Roxas that they would run away together; fly away to a place where they've never heard of thieves and assassins. In a way, Axel kept his promise; but this isn't what any of them had envisioned.

Gods, what Roxas wouldn't give to feel Axel's hands on him again; to feel the warmth of his embrace; to hear the beat of his heart and the pressure of his lips on Roxas'; to feel Axel's lips travel all around Roxas' body the way they had on his birthday, the way they had days after . . .

Roxas frowns as he lowers his hand from his lip, the movement causing his mouth to hurt more. He doesn't usually think back to the day he had practically broke Axel back in Twilight Town, the hypnotic serum of his mother's creation turning him into a killing machine . . . But whenever he does, all he feel and all he can hear is the sound of Axel's voice reaching through the oblivion darkness towards him. How many times Roxas had tried to reach it, only to awaken when it is nearly too late.

It feels as if they're still on the run . . . not from his father, but from his mother now. One after another, it never ends. There is no peace. All Roxas wants to do is just wait for Axel to wake, and when they do, they will sail farther out, hell they'll even resort to living on the ocean itself if it means just spending the rest of his life with him.

Roxas has spent nearly every night of the last month every night in Axel's room, keeping a constant watch over him; waiting for him to wake up. In a way, just being in the room with Axle is calming enough that Roxas soon forgets about the world and the trouble he's caused and just how broken and hollow he feels.

Still, the words that Axel had shouted to Roxas still rattle in his skull. " _I know nothing of your kind_!" The words that Axel had spewed with such hatred that it shook Roxas' bones. Words that Roxas had deserved after he had killed his friend Demyx while under the serum. Even if Roxas' thoughts were not his own, Axel's words seemed to true, so official that Roxas feared that he had lost everything. Still, Roxas doesn't know just how much Axel has forgiven him.

Cruelly, Roxas hasn't even thought about the loss that Axel has faced because of him. Gods, perhaps it's even worse than Roxas'.

What it must've been like to watch Roxas kill his first mate Ventus; that sweet, innocent boy who had seen Roxas for what he truly was and had accepted him as a friend. Not only that, but the fact that Axel didn't even get to say goodbye. He was simply dragged from the room after watching Roxas unsheathe his blade from Ventus' chest. And then to watch the dreadful history repeat itself when Roxas had impaled his sword into Demyx's chest. His blood coating Axel's body and hands.

Everything Axel had to face, and it is all because of Roxas. Suddenly the weight of the gold ring on Roxas' finger grows heavy. The ring with the inscription: "I Love You" on the inner ring.

" _I want to give you something to look forward to. I want to give you a reason to fight. I want to give you what you never had, and that is my love, my life, and my dedication to you. Until death do us part, I am in love with you_." Axel's words echo through Roxas' thoughts, giving him slight warmth to his chilled core. Roxas rubs his arms as goosebumps travel across his arms.

Would Axel be willing to travel further still? Perhaps, in a way, Roxas has found a new objective: keep fleeing with Axel until no one can find them or even remember their names.

Trailing his fingers along the scar on his palm, Roxas sighs as he turns back to Axel. Rising from his seat beside Axel's bed, Roxas goes over and presses one hand against the headboard, leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on Axel's forehead. He then leans down further towards Axel's ear, "I love you." He whispers.

As Roxas fiddles with the strands of Axel's hair closest to his forehead, Roxas can't help but slightly smile.

"I thought I'd find you here." A voice suddenly speaks behind him. Roxas jumps, careful to hop away from Axel's bed and not disturb him. But perhaps right now not even an armada will wake Axel. The joke both amusing and cruel. Roxas whirls around to find the one person he has, rather rudely, hasn't spoken much to since their arrival to his home.

When Roxas sets his eyes on him, he nearly gasps still at how much he looks like Axel. The same red, spikey hair and the gorgeous eyes and toned features with smooth skin.

"Reno." Roxas breathes. "I didn't hear you come in."

Reno leans on the doorway to the bedroom, a smirk on his lips and his hand tucked into the pockets of his pants. "I don't think that's something you want to say to me, Roxas; given your history and expression of skill."

"I never boasted about my skills to you."

"No, but I've heard your men talk about you. All good things, I assure you." Reno smiles.

"Not like I need to be so cautious around here. I might be a drunk now, but I can still knock a bitch out."

"What do you mean drunk?"

"Never mind." Roxas concludes with a wave of his hand. He goes back to staring at Axel, expecting his eyes to flutter.

Reno has a lanky physique, but bears the exact handsomeness of Axel. His hair is unkempt red terminating in a long ponytail, and two symmetrical red tattoos on his cheekbones; similar to Axel's reverse teardrops. He usually wears goggles pushed up onto his forehead for reasons Roxas doesn't know, as his job – apart from him trading among then cold, ruthless, and the sneaky – he is a host for horse races. Goggles are for diving in the ocean or perhaps even horse racing. To suit his laidback personality, an unbuttoned suit jacket, and an untucked dress shirt.

Roxas hears Reno approach the bed and place a hand on the back of Roxas' chair. Ever since their arrival, Roxas hasn't been able to look long in Reno's eyes; because – gods, they are Axel's eyes – a gorgeous shade of emerald that glimmers in the sunlight. How could he look at the brother of Axel when Roxas is the reason why Axel is now passed out in a coma? The guilt and shame nearly suffocates him every time he sees those eyes.

"Zexion says he's doing well. Heart rate is normal, blood pressure stabilized –"

"– But he still won't wake up." Roxas finishes.

Reno sighs and leans against the chair. "Listen, you don't have to beat yourself up over this. I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're worried about."

Roxas hides his surprise at Reno's sudden words, but forces himself to angle his head up, into those passionate eyes. Gods, help him. His eyebrows furrow with question.

"I'm serious," Reno gently smiles. "I'm not. Remember your crew told me everything, and frankly, and excuse me for saying this, but I actually feel bad for you. That's a lot of shit to take in."

Roxas slightly cringes as he feels Reno's sympathy pool over him like tar. But he remembers the day that Luxord had knocked on Reno's door. It was after they had slipped the officials of the docks and he gave Roxas directions towards Reno's mansion. Some of them were impressed with how Roxas had easily found the place given the minimal description they had given him with many ears around them.

When Reno had opened the door, he had smiled when he saw the familiar faces of Axel's men, but it quickly vanished into confusion at the cloaked men around them, and then to panic when he saw Zack and Xigbar carrying Axel as he still had sever bruising and dried blood on his clothes. Reno hurried them into the mansion and called to the servant woman to prepare some medicine and tonics.

They had locked the door to Axel's room that Reno keeps open just in case Axel ever decided to visit Ivalice. It was one of the longest nights for Roxas. He sat against the wall outside of Axel's room and waited for hearing six hours until Reno came out with his face serious, but calmer than before. "He'll make it." Was all he said before he left Roxas there, the door left open.

Bur Roxas didn't go in. he couldn't with the feeling of intrusion inside of him. This was Axel's home, that was Axel's room, and Roxas was below deserving of seeing memories of his personal life.

After Axel had gotten settled, Reno called the crewmen into the dining room where they were served one of the best dinners they had received since boarding the ship to Ivalice. He, politely demanded he was told everything if they wanted to stay here. And after the crewmen had exchanged looks with Roxas, Roxas himself too lost in his own apathy to care, simply shrugged his shoulders; waving his hand seemed like the greatest effort then.

So one by one, the crew each told a part of the story, not missing a single detail. Roxas mostly tuned it all out, even when Vanitas had spoken about Roxas' Elven heritage and what it was that his mother had done to him to use the power. By the end of it, Reno simply nodded his head and called a servant over to show everyone to their rooms.

As Roxas hugs his knees, Reno takes the second armchair and sets it next to Roxas'. Reno can be cocky, cynical, somewhat lazy, and can be friendly. Despite his appearance and attitude, he is regarded as a prominent worker; while indulging in illegal smuggling with Axel, he takes his job of horseracing with pride.

"Listen, I also was looking for you, because I just wanted to ask how you're doing." Reno says.

"You wouldn't be the first person to ask."

"I assume that means I'll get the same answer?"

"Maybe, only if you piss me off."

"What would be the difference now?" Reno smirks, lightly poking at Roxas' ribs with his elbow. He has a rebellious temperament and his actions can be sadistic, sometimes contrasting his laid back personality.

Roxas rewards him with a smirk, and Reno throws his arms up. "Gods be praised! I have amused you!"

Roxas can't stop the chuckle that comes next and the smile that spreads his lips wider. He looks to Reno, who still smiles and tilts his head. Roxas then clears his throat when he realizes Reno actually wants an answer to his question.

"Um, I mean I'm doing okay. I guess. Depending on however you define okay."

"I mean," Reno rubs his neck. "I hate to sound creepy, but I was watching you and Sora from my study. And I saw you just left. I just thought . . ."

"I appreciate your concern."

There's a moment of silence and Reno decides to get up from his seat and wander over to the bookshelf located next to the fireplace the wall adjacent to the bed. It's filled, and neatly arranged; and in alphabetical order, if he knew Axel at all. And it probably contained only his most beloved books – unlike Roxas' back in Kingdom Hearts, which houses every title he got his hands on, whether he liked the book or not. All those countless books, not to mention the library of a million books that he had left unread back in Traverse Town of Kingdom Hearts. Stuck in the hands of his mother, who probably burned them all by now.

Sinking further into the cushion, Roxas watches as Reno browses the shelf, but Roxas had a feeling that Reno has probably memorized each and every title there is by now. Maybe he was just stalling, or perhaps going on a nostalgia trip.

"Axel never was much of a reader," Reno suddenly says. "I think reading up about you was the most he's ever done."

"He seems well educated." Roxas defends.

"Hm, only if is benefits him." Reno counters.

Roxas looks up and watches Reno as he turns towards a desk tucked in the corner near the window. There's another chair and two sconces flaking above it. Roxas looks to Reno, who merely smiles and jerks his chin towards it. Not wanting decline his offer, Roxas forces himself to get up and wordlessly saunter over to the desk. It's a gleaming mahogany with scrolls and scrolls of papers with pencil protractors and smaller books of the many seas entrapping Kingdom Hearts and even Ivalice. There are two drawers on each side, and Roxas delicately sits on the edge of the chair and brushes aside a couple of detailed maps depicting the East and West Bugross oceans.

Roxas can feel his chest compress, and realizes he gave a slight chuckle. "His love for maps is like my love for books."

"Yeah," Reno says as his footsteps approach from behind. "Axel loved this stuff. Sometimes I would tease him, saying he should've grown a tail and just jump into the sea. Secretly I think he wanted to. He practically lived for the ocean and exploration."

"And you didn't?" Roxas asks as he finds another map of Ivalice, this one zoomed in more to locate the ports and docks of the cities.

"Nah, I hated whenever the water got choppy. I had terrible sea sickness. That and I liked having clean water at my disposal. But to each their own."

"Well it's nice to see it didn't have a strain on your relationship."

"I don't why it would. I always supported him in everything he did, as he did for me." Reno chuckles. "Well, except for when he insisted we go out during a storm to catch the angle of the north stars. Dumbass."

Roxas chuckles softly as he opens one of the drawers and pulls out a red book with gold bordering and finds many papers tucked towards the middle section. He sets the spine against the table and opens it wide, revealing more papers, wrinkled, folded and scribbled with sloppy writing.

"He sure did have a detailed eye." says Roxas as he finds a smaller note with even more cities and ports tucked behind the section of the map.

"Yet he never put much work into school."

Roxas turns to him. "He wasn't a good student?"

"He kept decent grades, but I would always tell there was something holding him, or like this distant look in his eye." Reno folds his arms as he leans against the desk. "I guess school was merely an act of hindrance. Once we graduated, he spent the next extensive years saving money to buy his own ship."

Roxas heart stops for a moment and his throat closes as his mind flashes back to the sight of the ship sinking. Plunging below the surface of the water after it was set aflame and the crew had to escape. He lost his ship and half of his men that day. Gods, seems like anyone caught with Roxas not only as a low survival rate, but their lives get ruined in more ways than one.

It would seem he truly is a gods-damned cursed creature.

"I've never seen him put so much effort into one thing." Reno continues. "Well except for researching up on you. You're the other thing I've seen him put that same effort into."

"I suppose I should be flattered." Roxas mumbles gazing at the book and rubbing the corner of a crisp page between this index finger and thumb.

"You should. Axel doesn't normally put much effort into _anything_ unless he truly loves it." Roxas jerks his head towards him, his eyes widening. "If it also helps, the guys managed to save some of the more important books that he had used. You're free to browse them, if you want."

"No, but thank you." Roxas denies immediately.

"Well jeez, give it some thought." Reno jokes, but Roxas doesn't smile. Lowering his hands, Reno sighs. "Look Roxas, I know you're scared, but you can't just keep running from this. You shouldn't have to fear what you have."

Roxas fists his hands and clenches his eyes shut.

"Look, there's no need for masks, remember I know what's going on. And what you have, it can be incredible, you only have to embrace it and –"

"You . . . don't know, _anything_." Roxas suddenly growls, springing from the seat, nearly knocking the chair to the floor. Reno taken slightly aback at how deep the boy's voice had gone quickly. "And neither does Axel."

" _I know nothing of your kind_!"

"I'm not saying I do." Reno says calmly. The control making Roxas almost want to punch him. "I know better than to tell you what and what not to feel or do. But this is about _you_ ; you and your wonderful gift."

Roxas snorts. "I don't have any _gifts_ , just a curse."

"Only if you let it be." Roxas looks up and finds Reno staring at him with those caring and gentle eyes. "Look, I'd like to help you understand, that is if you're interested."

Roxas snaps his head to Reno. "How would you know how my power works? Let alone know how the power of ancient, immortal beings works?"

"I've done my studies." Reno vaguely answers. "And maybe with some training together we can –"

"Look! I don't want any part of this. It's just hard enough for me trying to be normal!" Roxas suddenly yells. "I don't want anything to do with assassins, or Elves, or Guilds anymore!"

"Well then what do you plan to do?" Reno asks, his voice still calm. "You're bored enough so much now that you're nearly drinking away everything, what do you plan to do once Axel awakens?"

"We'll sail farther. Farther out further than Ivalice. We will escape the life that has so carefully torn me to pieces and try to live _normal_!" Roxas answers. "I don't want any part of what you're trying to do, and I am _not interested_."

Turning away from Reno, Roxas takes off his leather boots leaving them where he disperses them as he makes his way to the bed. Wordlessly, he climbs onto the plush bed, stretching an arm across Axel's middle, holding him close.

His body still smells so much like Axel. And the cheap soap Roxas had made him use, because he was so selfish that he couldn't let Axel have his lavender soap.

Roxas buries his face in Axel's warm, stiff shoulder. There is the musky scent of Axel's cologne still located in distinct places like behind his hears and on his collarbone – a small that is so distinctly Axel that Roxas nearly starts to cry. It clings to Axle's crimson-red hair, to his soft, pinkish lips.

"Roxas." He hears Reno speak.

Roxas will not leave Axel.

After a sighs of defeat, Reno says. "Dinner will be ready at six o'clock."

Roxas doesn't move. Footsteps heading towards the door – then the _snick_ of it closing as Reno leaves.

Roxas closes his eyes. He will not leave Axel.

He will not leave him.


	4. Chapter 3

Roxas awakens in his own bed in Reno's mansion, and knew the day is brand new from the blinding sunlight coming in through the crevices of his closed blinds.

Automatically, his hands fumble for his neck, and clasps the small pouch that still holds a piece of Ventus with him. Turning on his side, his feet brush up against another firm and warm body. Seconds after his feet make contact, he groans as something sold and wet brushes his cheek and moves to lick his face. He opens his eye and finds Artemis looking at him, her tail wagging. Adjusting himself in the bed, Roxas winces at the sunlight. He hadn't meant to sleep in. the last he remembers was climbing into bed with Axel. No doubt Vanitas was the one who had carried him back into his bed.

Roxas rubs his eye and then scratches the dog's behind the ears. "Have you peed somewhere and with to tell me about it?"

"Oh no," says someone as the bedroom door swings open – Reno. "I took her out at dawn."

Roxas smiles weakly as he approaches. "Isn't it rather early for a visit?"

"Early?" Reno laughs sitting on the bed. Roxas inches away. "It's almost one in the afternoon! Sora told me you've been sleeping like the dead all morning."

One! He'd slept that long? Roxas scratches his nose and pulls the dog onto his lap. It was astounding to think that he had slept through dinner and then breakfast and lunch into the next day. Perhaps he was more tired than he though; and in more ways than one. Outside, the sky has grown into overcast, splatters if rain already hitting the window and drumming on the roof. So fierce that visibility is nearly impossible.

"Do you at least plan on doing something today?" Reno asks.

"I will when I think of something." Roxas says. He has a twisted feeling in his stomach as he remembers what he had said to Reno yesterday. It certainly did take an amount of confidence, or perhaps arrogance to approach Roxas even after that. And though a part of him did want to learn how to at least control his Elven side, most of him feared it and still keeps it locked in chains in his heart like he had the day he had left his father.

"Well I can tell you right now you're not going to be lying around all day. That's Artemis's job." The dog on cue perks her head up with her ears erect. She then lowers her head back down onto Roxas lap and sighs.

"Oh like you're like is so difficult." Roxas chuckles, but kisses the dog's head. "And what's so wrong if I want to stay inside? Better than to have me stumbling around drunk in the middle of the day. And it's not like there's much of the day to enjoy." Reno merely gives Roxas a look of annoyance before Roxas rolls his eyes and waves his hand. "Fine, fine. I'll try and think of _something_. Happy?"

"As much as I can get with you." Reno says before he rises from the bed. "I'll have them bring you some food."

"Ask them to call Sora too." says Roxas. Reno turns and quirks an eyebrow with that still annoyed look. "Please." Roxas bats his eyes, angling his neck.

Reno merely rolls his eyes and smirks as he leaves the room. Roxas continues to pet Artemis's head. The dog looks up to Roxas and blinks.

"Does this mean you forgive me?" he says to the dog. Artemis replies with a few licks of his chin and Roxas kisses the dog's still soft head.

The storm continues on, leaving floodwaters devouring the streets too deep for Roxas to go and take his run. So he instead invites Sora to join him for his late lunch in bed, and the servant boy – who is now thoroughly a part of Roxas' daily routines – was more than happy to dash to Roxas' room and hop under the warm covers.

They sit together in Roxas' bed, a large lunch tray spread between them. Artemis sits in front of the fireplace chewing on a rawhide bone Sora had brought with him. Her tail wags, though she keeps her eyes on the two boys.

"He offered to train with you?" Sora asks, cradling his porcelain teacup in his hands. "What does Reno know about the Elven kind?"

"He claims he's done his "research."" Roxas air quotes as he takes a small finger sandwich.

Sora sets down his tea. "Did you take up his offer?"

"Hell no." Roxas finishes his finger sandwich and leans back in his fluffed-up pillow.

"Why not?" muses, tucking his feet under the covers. Artemis gets up and wanders over to Sora, turning in a few circles before settling down next to Sora's side. "If there's a chance for you to try and control your Elven abilities . . ."

"I don't want to, Sora."

"And I'm asking why, _Roxas_." Sora counters.

"Because I don't want to."

"That's not a proper answer. Please Roxas, tell me why. I mean really why."

"What if that is my reason?" Roxas says.

Sora sighs. "Roxas, you said you wanted us to be friends, well this is us trying to be friends. Tell me your honest truths."

Roxas looks to the boy, picking away at a chocolate covered turtle truffle. He closes his eyes and sighs. "I don't want to train because I'm afraid of it."

"You're only afraid of it _because_ you can't control it. And if Reno is offering you a chance to do that, then why –"

"No, you don't get it. I don't want to let it loose. I don't want to use it because I don't think I can control it." Roxas says. "I'm worried that if I even try, the whole world will break out into flames."

"Roxas, what happened before, that wasn't your fault. Your mind was not your own." Sora says.

"But I don't think I want that kind of power. It was exhilarating, but terrifying. No one should have that kind of power, no matter their intentions."

"I'm afraid the choice is not yours, Roxas. The power exists." Sora says as he starts to stroke Artemis's head. "And it's your duty to use the gifts you've been to win this war."

"War?"

"Between the Guilds and the Kingdoms. Not just Ivalice, but Kingdom Hearts as well." Sora says.

"When was this war going on?" Roxas asks as he jerks his head towards Sora. His eyebrows narrow with concern and surprise.

"While you were locked away in the darkness of your father's guild." Sora says. "Roxas, they tried to wipe out your entire culture. This can be your chance to avenge them."

"Well they did a damn good job, because I don't have any recollection or connections to the Elves of Ivalice or even of Kingdom Hearts."

"As far as you know. You can do research."

"I don't know . . ."

"Roxas, please. At least consider this. This'll be your chance to use your oath to Ventus. You're doing good as well as using your abilities."

"Sora, please." Roxas says waving his hand. "We've discussed it, now please drop it."

"Roxas –"

"I might have _accepted_ , than I'm part Elven, Sora. But _embracing_ it is an entirely different thing. Now _please_ , another topic of discussion."

Roxas and Sora spend the rest of the day together with the help of the rainstorm not letting up. For once, Roxas didn't feel like sneaking down into the cellar as he normally would, and stealing a bottle of red wine from the winery. With Sora around, it is enough to quench the pain and ease the hollowness he feels inside.

Savoring the warmth of the crackling fire, Roxas leans his head against the back of the small couch and dangles his legs over the cushioned arm. The lines of the book he held before him is beginning to blur, which is no surprise, given that it is well past eleven, and he has been spending the day with Sora wandering around the mansion, switching from the backyard porch, to the library, to the study, to the game room. But they mostly spent their time in Roxas' room, playing board games and talking for most of the hours. Reno said Roxas had to do something today, and since going outside was closed off, this is the best it can get.

Sprawled on the well-worn red carpet in front of him, Sora too is indulged in a book he picked from Roxas' bookshelf. Giving a little sigh through his nose, Roxas lowers the book in his hands.

Unlike his spacious suite back at the castle, this bedroom in Reno's mansion is one large chamber, furnished only with a table by the solitary window and the old couch set before the stone fireplace. A few tapestries hang on the grey stone walls, a towering oak armoire stands in one corner, and his four-post bed is decorated with a rather old and faded crimson duvet. There is a bathing room attached – not as large as the one back at the castle, but still spacious enough to accommodate its own pool and privy. He only has one small bookcase, filled and neatly arranged. The one book he always manages to spy is the fairytale book that Ventus used to love and cherish when they were sailing on Axel's ship way back when. The book of which he now has lying on his chest. But other than that, the self holds all of the books that Axel and the others had managed to swipe like Reno said. Only they're just the genealogy books and historical backgrounds of the Elves; and some _genius_ thought it would be wonderful to place it all in Roxas' room. Regardless of the bookshelf, Roxas likes it here; it's cozy.

Sora started coming here a few days ago when Roxas had decided not to do anything with himself and had claimed that he was also there for Artemis. And even thought Roxas grumbled about him imposing on his privacy, Roxas hadn't turned Sora away or objected to his frequent after-dinner visits.

After another turn of the page of his book, Sora pauses and looks to Roxas. "Remind me again what you're reading."

Roxas flops onto his back as he steadies the books on his stomach. "Just a fairytale book. Stories of princesses, dreams come true and happily ever after."

Sora's sapphire-blue eyes are molten in the firelight. "Hmm, I didn't take you as one who enjoyed epic fantasies like that. But I suppose your love for books has no boundaries."

Roxas scowls. "What's so wrong with enjoying child's stories? It gives me a chance to escape from the epic fantasy novels; not to mention it makes me wish I was a child again, for obvious reasons."

"Right." Sora says. "So you're just reading on the stories that you missed out on as a kid?"

"If you're suggesting that my choice of reads is immature I don't wish to hear it. I read what I like."

"I'm trying to figure out what's so boring that you dozed off ten minutes ago."

Roxas props himself on his elbows. "I did not!"

Sora's brows rise. "I heard you snoring."

"You're a liar, Sora." Roxas throws a pillow at him and plops back on the couch. "I only closed my eyes for a minute."

Sora smiles and shakes his head again and goes back to his reading.

Roxas blushes. "I didn't really snore, did I?"

Sora's face is utterly serious as he says, "Like a bear."

Roxas thumps a fist on the couch cushion. Sora snickers. Roxas huffs, then drapes an arm off the soda, picking at the threads of the ancient rug as he stares up at the stone ceiling. "You know, when we were on the ship, I had noticed that you kept glaring at Tidus. Tell me why you hate him."

Sora looks up. "I never said I hated him." But Roxas can see the slight on Sora's cheeks.

Roxas just waits.

Sora sighs. "I think it's fairly easy for you to see why I hate him."

"Jealousy is rather childish, Sora. You have a few years left until –"

"It's not just that. There are _many_ other incidents, and I don't particularly feel like talking about any of them."

Roxas swings his legs off the arm of the couch and sits up straight. "Testy aren't you?"

He adjusts the book in his lap and turns another page, revealing a map belonging to the next story marked with main locations of each protagonist. Most of them seem like posh districts where a majority of the elite live. One of the character's townhouse is in that neighborhood, tucked into a quiet, respectable side street. Roxas chuckles as he aligns the map of the fictional world with the map of Twilight Town. He traces a nail along it, but pauses when his eyes fall upon a street just a few blocks over.

He pictures the street of Twilight Town in his head. Aligning it, Roxas knows this street – and knew the house that sits on its corner. Whenever he ventured towards Sunset Terrace, he took care to never pass too close to it. Now, even three years later it would have been no different; he'll even go a few blocks out of his way to avoid walking by.

Not daring to look at Sora, he asks. "Do you know who Setzer Almasy is?"

The name makes him sick with long-suppressed rage and grief, but he manages to say it. The man who shares the same name of Seifer One and Two of the Serpants Guild. It was one of the few connections Cloud had through each of the Guilds. Roxas never liked Setzer, or Seifer, and this was the firm thing that had severed their connection and started their epic hatred for one another in claims to the throne of the darkness.

But even if Roxas doesn't want the entire truth . . . there are something he does need to know about that night. Still needs to know, even after all this time.

He feels Sora's attention on him. "The crime lord?"

Roxas nods, his eyes still on that street where so many things had gone horrible wrong. "Have you ever dealt with him?"

"Gods, no. I don't know him, but I know _of_ him." Sora says. "But that could be because Setzer is dead."

Roxas lowers his book. "Setzer's dead?"

"Yeah, nearly three to four years ago. He and his three top men we all found murdered by . . ." Sora chews his lip, searching for the name. "I know it was one of your own." Roxas feels his chest tighten. "Zexion!" Sora snaps. "Zexion took them all out." Roxas' breath tightens in his chest. "You seem surprised. I thought you knew; it was all in the papers."

"I thought I knew Zexion, but I guess I don't." Roxas says softly. For the years he had spent growing up with his father, Zexion had always been a silent, deadly presence, a man who had barely tolerated hi, and had always made it clear that if he ever became a threat to the guild, heir or not he would kill him. But on the night that Roxas had been betrayed and captured, Zexion had tried to stop him. He had thought it was because Cloud had ordered Roxas locked in his rooms, that it had been a way to keep him from seeking retribution for her death at Setzer's hands; but . . .

"Did they say how they had found him? Setzer?" Roxas asks.

Sora runs a hand through his hair, glancing down at the rug. Roxas feels the blood drain from his face. Sora studies him closely, warily. "Setzer's body was impaled on the iron fence outside of the guard's barracks. They say there was . . . enough blood to suggest that Setzer was still alive when he did it. They never confessed, but there was a sense that the servants of the household had also been instructed to _let_ him stay there until he died. They thought it was an attempt to balance the blood feud – so that when the next crime lord ascended, they would view Cloud and his assassins as enemies."

Roxas stares at the carpet again. The night he had broken out of the mansion to hunt down Setzer, Zexion had tried to stop him. He tried to tell Roxas it was a trap. Come to think of it, that was back when Zexion had _both_ of his eyes exposed. He started wearing his hair over his eye like that after . . .

Roxas shut down the thought before it reaches its conclusion. That was a truth he'd have to take out and examine at another time, when he is alone, when he doesn't have Elves and the Guild wars and all that nonsense to worry about.

After a moment of silence, Sora asks. "The officials never knew why Zexion went after Setzer Almasy, though. Zexion was well-known, but he was never thought to be capable of things like that. To be honest, it still gives me shivers to look at him sometimes. Fearing he'll turn me inside out with a simple look and flick of his wrist. But what did he have against Setzer; because everyone knew he was related to the Serpents Guild."

Roxas' eyes were burning, and he looks to the window, where the night sky is bathed in moonlight. "It was an act of revenge." He can still see her twisted corpse, lying on that table in the room beneath the mansion; still see Setzer crouched in front of him, his hands roaming over his paralyzed body. Roxas swallows down the tightness in his throat. "Setzer captured, tortured and then murdered one of . . . one of my . . . companions. And then the next night, I went out to repay the favor. It didn't end well for me."

A log shifts in the fire, breaking open and filling out the room with a flash of light. Sora's eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape. He didn't think, never knew that Roxas had ever been interested in _anyone_ other than Axel, but . . .

"Someone had betrayed you. Who?" Sora asks.

"I still don't know. Someone hired me and my companion to kill Setzer, but it was all just a trap, and Setzer was the bait."

Silence; then – "What was his name?"

"Her." Roxas pushes her lips together, shoving away the memory of how she had looked the last time he had seen her, broken on the table. "Xion." He got out. "Her name was Xion." Roxas takes an uneven breath. "I don't even know where they buried her. I don't even know who I would ask about it."

Sora doesn't reply; and Roxas doesn't know why he bothered talking, but the words just tumble out. "I failed her." Roxas says. "In every way that counted, I failed her."

Another long silence, then a sigh. "Not in one way," Sora says. "I bet she would have wanted you to survive – to _live_. So you didn't fail her, not in that regard."

Roxas has to look away in order to force his eyes to stop burning as he nods.

After a moment, Sora speaks again. "It was Kairi." Roxas jerks his attention to Sora. "Three years ago, before the Faceless became her occupation, she worked for one of the ladies of the court. And Tidus somehow found out and thought it would be amusing for me to discover him in bed with her. I know it's nothing like what you went through . . ."

Roxas' mouth is slightly agape as he thinks back to the auburn, blue-eyed twin who had greeted him his first time arriving. She seemed so nice. So _smart_. "Why did she do it?"

Sora shrugs, though his face is bleak with the memory. "Because Tidus was older, more handsome, experienced, and I was just a servant boy. He even convinced her once to leave her home and go back to Ivalice with him –but she declined once the Faceless came for her and Namine."

"You loved her."

"I thought I did. And I thought she loved me." Sora shook his head, as if silently chiding himself. "Did Xion love you?"

Yes. More than anyone had ever loved Roxas. She had loved him enough to risk everything – to give up everything. She had loved him so much that he still feels the echoes of it, even now. "Very much." Roxas breathes.

The clock chimes elven thirty, and Sora shakes his head, the tension falling from him. "I'm exhausted."

Roxas stands, somehow having no clue how they'd wound up talking about the people who had meant so much to them. "Then you should go." Sora gets to his feet, his eyes so bright. "I'll walk you back to your room."

Sora lifts his chin. "I don't need to be escorted everywhere."

"You don't." Roxas says, walking to the door. "But it _is_ something that friends tend to do."

"Would you walk Axel back to his room?" Sora bats his eyelashes at Roxas, striding through the door as he opens it for him. "Or is this a privilege that only your lady-friends receive?"

" _If_ I had any lady-friends, I'd certainly extend the offer. But I'm not sure if you qualify as a lady or not."

Sora goes to elbow him in the stomach, but Roxas catches it and pushes it away. "So chivalrous. No wonder those girls found excuses to be in the gardens every morning."

Roxas snorts, and they fall silent as they walk through the quiet dim halls of the mansion, making their way back to Sora's room on the other side. It is a trek, and often a hot one, since many of the halls are lined with windows that doesn't keep out the summer's heat.

When they reach the door to Sora's rooms, he bids the boy a quick good night and begins to walk away. Sora's fingers are around the brass knob when he hears Roxas call his name.

"For what it's worth, Sora." Roxas faces him, his hands in his pockets. He gives the boy a slight smile. "If she picked Tidus over you, that makes her the greatest fool who ever lived."

Sora stares at him for a long moment before smiling and quietly saying. "Thank you."

Roxas gives a solemn solute and walks back to his room. Sora watches go, watches those powerful muscles shifting in his back, visible even through his dark tunic suddenly grateful that no was around to watch.

* * *

Roxas hurtles through the city streets, discarding his cloak and heavier weapons as he went, anything to give him additional speed, anything to get back to the castle before Sora . . . before Sora –

A clock begins sounding somewhere in the capital, and a lifetime passes between each booming peal.

It is late enough that the streets are mostly deserted, but the people who see him keep well out of his way as he sprints past, his lungs nearly shattering. He pushes that pain away, willing strength into his legs, praying to whatever gods still cared to give him swiftness and strength.

He doesn't care if it was the king himself. He'd destroy them.

The glass castle looms closer, its crystalline towers glowing with a pale greenish light.

 _Not again. Not again_ , he tells himself with each step, each pound of his heart. _Please_.

He can't take the front gate. The guards there will surely stop him or cause a ruckus that might prompt the assassin to act faster. There is a high stone wall bordering one of the gardens; it is close, and far less monitored.

He could have sworn he heard hooves thundering after him, but there is nothing in the world except him and the distance to Sora. He nears the stone wall surrounding the garden, his blood roaring in his ears as he makes a running jump for it.

He hits the side as silently as he can, his fingers and feet immediately finding purchase, digging in so hard his fingernails crack. He scrambles up and over the wall before the guards even look his way.

He lands on the gravel path of the garden, falling onto his hands. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers pain in his palms, but he is already running again, careening towards the glass doors that lead to the castle. Patches of snow glow blue in the moonlight. He'd go to Sora's room first – go there and lock Sora up safely, and then take down the bastard coming for him.

They can all go to hell. He'd dispatched them in a matter of heartbeats. Whoever had been sent to hurt Sora – that person is _his_. His to take apart bit by bit, until he ends them. He would throw their remnants at the feet of the king.

He flings open one of the glass doors. There were guards loitering about, but he'd picked this entrance because they knew him – and knew his face. He didn't expect to glimpse Vanitas thought, chatting with them. His ember-gold eyes were nothing more than a glimmer of color as he sprints by.

He can hear shouts from behind him, but he wouldn't stop, couldn't stop. _Not again. Never again_.

He hits the stairs, taking them by twos and threes, his legs trembling. Just a bit farther – Sora's rooms were only one level up, and two hallways over. He is the Assassin of Kingdom Hearts – he is Roxas Skyes. He will not fail. The gods owed him. The Lords owed him. He will not fail Sora. Not when there were so many loved words left between them.

Roxas hits the top of the stairs. The shouts behind him grew; people were calling his name. The darkness of the shadows grows, chasing after him up the stairs. He can feel them clinging to his legs and feet, trying to stop him. He will stop for no one.

He turns down the familiar hallway, nearly sobbing with relief at the sight of the wooden door. It is shut; there were no signs of forced entry.

He drew his two remaining daggers, summoning the words he'd need to quickly explain to Sora how and where to hide. When his assailant arrived, Sora's only task would be to keep quiet and concealed. Roxas would deal with the rest. And he'd enjoyed the hell out of it.

He reaches the door and slams into it, exploding through the locks.

The world slows to the beat of an ancient, ageless drum.

Roxas beholds the room.

The blood is everywhere.

Before the bed, Sora's bodyguards lay with their throats cut from ear to ear, their internal organs spilling out onto the floor.

And on the bed . . .

On the bed . . .

He could hear the shouts growing closer, reaching the room, but their words were somehow muffled, as though he were underwater, the sounds coming from the surface above.

Roxas stands in the center of the freezing bedroom, gazing at the bed, and the servant boy's broken body atop it.

Sora is dead.

Roxas stares at the body.

An empty body, artfully mutilated, so cut up that the bed is almost black with blood.

When it had mattered most, Roxas hadn't been there.

Sora is dead.

* * *

Air dives down Roxas' throat as he gasps awake, a scream nearly turning his throat raw. He jerks in his bed, entangling his feet in the sheets and nearly knocking Artemis off of the bed. She gives a whine of pain before standing on her feet, her tail wagging.

Roxas wails in distress as he kicks off the sheet and scrambles back into the headboard, the cool wooden chilling his sweaty back.

His entire body is moistened with sweat.

He is breathing heavily as he tucks his knees into his chest. His muscles feel rigid, his legs feel as heavy as lead. He curls into himself into a tight ball, his spine arching heavily and rocking back and forth, his teeth clenched tight enough to crack. Artemis is already there, licking his temple, sitting at his side. She whines with worry as her cold nose muzzles his cheek.

He is hot and cold at the same time. Burning with fear on the inside, sleek with sweat outside. Roxas continues to rock himself back and forth, whimpering and crying. His throat feels raw, and he can barely recall screaming as he tried to detangle himself from the sheets.

There's a knock at his door and Roxas jerks, yelping and causing Artemis to go on guard at the edge of the bed, hackles raised and fangs bared. But her tail suddenly wags when the familiar figure steps through the door. The light of the hallway leaks in through the ajar door, blinding Roxas, nearly causing him to hiss.

"Roxas!" a voice calls.

Roxas cowers from it, nearly screaming again when he feels the bed compress and cool hands touch his shoulders. He jerks and whines, but the hands are strong and hold him strong.

"Roxas, it's me. It's Vanitas."

Still whimpering, Roxas wills his ears to register the voice and calm his body. But his muscles have become so rigid that when he relaxes, his limbs start to shake severely. He can't uncurl from himself.

"Roxas, it's okay. I've got you. You were dreaming."

Tears sting Roxas' face but he manages to turn his head up to Vanitas and finds hi golden eyes gleaming with worry, but a seriousness that somehow anchors Roxas to reality. Still curled like a ball, Roxas crawls his way over to Vanitas, who meets him halfway and wraps his arms around Roxas, pulling him into his lap. Artemis is there still nuzzling Roxas' cheek and licking his cheek.

Roxas sits in Vanitas' lap, his legs spread in a V, one foot set on the ground. He starts to instruct Roxas the same way he did back when they were in the forest. "Breathe with me."

He feels the pressure of Vanitas' chest as it inhales and exhales. His hands work in circles like they did when he was cleaning Roxas. Vanitas keeps his lips pressed to Roxas' hair, breathing through his nose and warming his head. Roxas' hands twitch as they try to rub his arms and his toes curl hard.

"Relax. I'm here." Vanitas coos. "None of it is real."

Roxas cries and sobs into Vanitas' shirt. It's a nightshirt, so the fabric is so soft. Soothing against his face. He grips it with claw fingers and tries to steady his breathing, couching and snorting as he tries to compress cries.

Vanitas stays with him rubbing his back and slowly rocking Roxas, placing little kisses on the blonde's forehead. "I'm here." He says.

As part of the growing routine, Vanitas spends the next two minutes calming Roxas down, enough that Roxas is soon able to form audible words instead of blabbering words from his sobs. Roxas rests his head in the crook of Vanitas' neck, still slightly sweaty and Artemis rests her head on Vanitas' thigh as Roxas continually grows more still in Vanitas' arms.

Roxas can feel Vanitas' arms around him, their muscle encasing him like a cocoon, keeping him safe. Finally, Roxas starts to stretch out his legs, and gods – they are stiff. The whole time, Roxas wonders as to why it is only Vanitas who had come to his aid and not Reno, or anyone else, because knew a few of their rooms are nearby. But right now, he's just glad to have _someone_ here with him. And perhaps the only person who knows how to actually handle Roxas in a state like this.

Unfortunately, just as Roxas is calm enough to breathe normally, the thought occurs to him. Vanitas looks like Sora, with his spiky hair and brightly color in his eyes. Roxas looks up to him, and Vanitas gazes back down at him; the light of the hallway illuminating his smooth skin.

And then a flash of the dream jabs Roxas in the gut.

Without a word, but nearly whacking Vanitas in the face, Roxas scrambles out of bed and bursts through the door. "Roxas?"

Roxas tries to ignore the same way Vanitas calls his voice like in the dream. He barrels down the hallway with the thumping of his feet against the rug the only sound. He scan hear Vanitas call after him, not too loud to disturb the others, but enough to try and catch Roxas' attention. Still, he ignores it and heads towards Sora's room.

Finding the door, but remembering he is in reality – hopefully – Roxas grabs the brass knob and turns; sobbing with relief when he finds it unlocked. He pushes his way inside, and nearly falls to his knees when he beholds the bed.

Sora is whole, clean, and beautiful. He is asleep in the bed, one hand tucked under the pillow, the other cradling his cheek and he breathes evenly and slowly. The sky outside is an ombre of blue to pink as it leaks through the window and shines on Sora's smooth skin. A sleeping beauty.

The footsteps of Vanitas follow up and come to a slow as they near the open door, his breath slightly quick as he sets a hand on the threshold. "Roxas." He breathes quietly.

But Roxas takes tentative steps towards the bed, the wood cracking slightly underfoot. Once he's at the side of the four-post bed, his heartbeat is the loudest thing in his ears; so much he fears Sora will hear it and awaken.

But the boy stays asleep, his features soft and . . . attractively feminine. The silver of his crown necklace shines in the light, his hair fanned around his head.

Roxas reaches out a still slightly shaking hand, and brushes a few strands of Sora's hair off his forehead and then tucks a few others behind the boy's ear. Sora's features wrinkle as the sensation tickles him. Still, Roxas stiffens as he watches Sora's eyes squeeze tight before blinking open. They flick to Roxas, recognition sparking for the briefest of seconds before concern widens them. "Roxas?" Sora croaks.

As Vanitas watches from the doorway, he keeps a steady eye on Roxas. The soon-to-be-blonde-again assassin stands over Sora's bed, like the way a parent would a sleeping child. Then, suddenly he leans towards Sora, and Vanitas hears Sora yelp Roxas' name. Vanitas takes a step further into the room, when the room falls silent and the air stiffens.

Roxas stares at Sora, dead in the eye – Sora slightly bewildered and disturbed as Roxas' hand is tucked under the collar of Sora's shirt, set over his heart. The notion caused it to beat a little faster, but it only calms Roxas further just to feel it beneath his palm. When Roxas exhales, it shakes, and he can feel his eyes sting once again.

A familiar pitter-patter of paws sounds and Artemis comes trotting into the room, bypassing Vanitas still in the doorway and leaping her way onto Sora's bed. She walks her way around to Sora's side, while Roxas eases onto the edge of the bed.

Sora gives her a few kisses and a slightly nervous chuckle as Artemis lies down next to him, Roxas since removing his hand. Sora can see the vacancy in Roxas' eyes, as if he still doesn't accept that he is in reality, and wills himself to ask, "What happened?"

Roxas keeps staring at Sora's chest, the crown necklace now set over his heart. "I dreamt you were dead." Roxas says, his voice low and raspy.

Sora's breath hitches, but he swallows as he pets Artemis's head. "That's silly, I'm fine." He turns to Vanitas, now leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, his forehead shining slightly in the hallway light. When he turns back to Roxas, Sora finds his eyes gleaming, and a tears streaming down his cheek. "Roxas I'm fine." Sora says softly.

Still he allows Roxas to inch closer and accepts his hug as Roxas wraps his arms around Sora's neck. He says nothing still as Roxas lets go and rounds about the bed before climbing into the white sheets and snuggling himself down. Artemis gets up from her spot next to Sora

Sora looks to Vanitas, still in the doorway and merely gives him a sigh through his nose and shake of his head. Nodding, taking in the hint, Vanitas still makes his way into the room and rounding the bed to Roxas' side. Roxas flutters his eyes open and peers up at Vanitas. Vanitas crouches down and rests his hands on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to be okay?" he asks.

Roxas nods, cuddled under the sheets. "I'm sorry."

"No, no don't be." Vanitas says as he strokes the assassin's hair. "You're fine."

Then Roxas lashes out, wrapping his arms around Vanitas' neck, taking him by surprise. Roxas' lips are warm against his ear as he hears him whisper. "Thank you."

Vanitas returns his hug and kisses Roxas' temple while stroking the back of his head. "Okay, try to get some sleep." He says as he rises to stand. Vanitas makes his way over to Sora's side. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Sora waves his hand. "Of course, don't worry about it."

"You know I will." Vanitas says.

"But you know what I mean."

"Of course. We'll be fine." Sora says. "Thank you."

Vanitas nods and saunters over to the door. He looks back one last time at the two boys. Sora has turned to Roxas, of which is already whispering apologies to the boy, who merely shakes his head to the assassin. Artemis is lying at the foot of the bed, but turns her head to the boys every few seconds.

Taking the brass knob in his hands, Vanitas slowly closes the door, sealing the boys inside with a click. He then stuffs his hands in his pockets and wanders back over to his own room for the night. But his own hands still slightly shake.

Even as the night carries on, Roxas continues to stare at Sora, long after the boy has drifted back off into sleep. Artemis at their feet, yawning and stretching her legs. Sora's skin looks as smooth as porcelain as his features are soft making him look younger.

How many times Roxas has prayed that his nightmare wasn't a foreshadowing. He can't afford to lose Sora. Not now. But at the same time, he doesn't want to be too clingy to the boy. He keeps telling himself it was just a dream; it took place at the glass castle. Maybe he was just imagining things because of his Posttraumatic Stress.

Still, he inches himself closer to Sora, placing an arm over the boy's middle and resting his chin on the boy's shoulder.

As he attempts to get back to sleep, he keeps constant consciousness of Sora's beating heart.


	5. Chapter 4

The sound of iron clangs loudly as Roxas hops from one notch on the Salmon Ladder to the next one up. Sweat gleams on his forehead as he starts his fifth rep of pull-ups before then pushing himself up to the next notch. He swings his body forward and hoists himself again. This time he sings himself up so he is pin-straight vertically. His muscles bulge. He then starts to bend his arms in reverse chin-ups.

Sora leans against the wall near one of the few window in Reno's training room, a book in his lap. It certainly didn't match the grand-ballroom size of Tifa's castle, but it was comfortable with its basic needs of weights, weapons and mannequins. Xigbar leans against the wooden weapon rack located along one wall while Vanitas drinks down some cool water, a short sword strapped to his waist.

As Luxord walks out shirtless, wrapping his hands to starts using the punching bag, he looks up as the next heavy clang of metal calls his attention. When his eyes widen, Xigbar chuckles. "He's been doing that for over two hours now."

"The Salmon Ladder?!" Luxord exclaims.

"Not to mention he's added a few pull-ups and swings back down once he gets to the top." Xigbar adds.

"What exactly is the Salmon Ladder?" Sora asks.

Vanitas turns to him. "The Salmon Ladder requires tremendous upper-body strength. The person must grab a bar which is resting on two parallel walls. The walls have seven sets of notches for the bar to rest on, with gaps in between sets of rungs."

Another metallic clang as Roxas makes it to the top, his shirtless torso gleaming with sweat. Still, he does another set of pull-ups.

"The gap between the last two sets of rungs is larger than the previous ones. The person must use his momentum or his upper-body strength to climb, raising the bar from notch to notch." Vanitas finishes.

"Can you do it?"

"Not as extreme as him." Vanitas chuckles. He exchanges a quick glance over to Roxas before returning to Sora. "How were things last night?"

"Fine. When we were both awake, he told me everything." Sora says as he flips another page of the book.

"And what was that?" Vanitas says as he walks over and crouches down in front of him.

Sora sighs as he folds a corner of the page he is on and closes the book. "He had told me that he had had a terrible nightmare where he had found me dead. He kept talking about how he was afraid it was a foreshadowing of something, because we had talked yesterday; and I just kept telling him that it was only a dream."

"And . . .?"

"And, he is still clearly afraid. He has barely let me out of his sight since this morning. Granted we had breakfast together as well as playing with Artemis, but he's at least not, like clingy."

"And you don't think it _was_ something, presumptuous?" Vanitas asks.

"No, I honestly don't. He had said that it had taken place back at the castle in Traverse Town. I really only thing it was some kind of nightmare caused by his trauma back in Kingdom Hearts."

Vanitas nods, looking over his shoulder to the assassin. "I suppose. The poor guy's been through a lot."

"For me even it's still hard to imagine what he had gone through. I mean, I know so little now, but I overheard how his father had done something similar to him?" Vanitas jerks his head towards Sora with wide eyes. "It is true?"

"Yeah. Fair to say his . . . toleration of needles has somewhat decreased since then."

"What exactly happened?" Sora asks as he leans forward, folding his legs.

"Just what you think, but it's a bit complicated and I don't want to exploit anything he doesn't want to tell you himself."

"But I'm curious now." Sora's eyes glitter with innocent curiosity.

"He'll tell you, I'm sure. Whether you coax it out of him or if he just tells you when he's ready."

Sora's silently bites his lip as Vanitas rises and starts to walk over to the training circle when he says. "This has something to do with that boy, Ventus, doesn't it?"

Vanitas turns back and looks to Sora, seeing the similar innocence he had glimpsed that night when he accidentally mistook Ventus for Roxas on Axel's ship. Vanitas flicks his gaze down, up then back to Sora and says, "Yes, it does."

With that, he turns away and starts towards the weightlifting area, casting his sword onto the rack of weapons. Sora picks up his book again and opens it to the page he had left off. In a way, he's glad he didn't ask Vanitas about it. Sora remembers when they were both down in the cellar of the glass castle; when Zexion had opened a portal to that realm. There was a boy whom at first Sora mistook for Roxas' brother. They had looked so similar in physical nature, kind of like Sora and Vanitas.

The way Roxas had just collapsed, completely and utterly collapsed like his ribs had caved in on themselves. His knees hit the pavement so hard they might've cracked, but Roxas only stared up at the gleaming specter, his words of apology the only thing he seemed to be able to get across. Sora believes that it was the first and probably only time he or Vanitas or even Axel, was able to see Roxas truly as broken as he is. Crumpled and broken before Ventus, Roxas had tears in his eyes and looked so . . . tired. He looked like he could've walked through that portal and proudly not turn back. Sora shudders at what would've happened if he did.

There's a thump up ahead and Sora looks up to find Roxas shining with sweat as he goes over to the side of the Salmon Ladder and pick up a towel. He wipes his forehead and rummages through his things to find a couple of bandages to wrap his knuckles. There's a dummy set up in the center of the floor, and Roxas keeps turning his head to it to make sure no one takes it. Sora watches as Roxas quickly and effectively wrap his hands to prepare for boxing.

Reno stands in the shadows atop the mezzanine, staring down at the assassin. He watches as he wraps his hands and after wiping off his face, goes over to the dummy situated in the center of the floor. The moment he takes a fighting stance, he punches the dummy square in the face. Roxas had sent Reno a message through his servants that he was going to have breakfast in Sora's room, and he had missed out on lunch to go training. Footsteps echo behind him and the air feels suddenly thicker. He turns his head to find Vanitas approaching him, a wet towel around his neck, and an empty cup of water in his hand.

"Welcome, Vanitas." Reno says. His hands in his pockets.

"Reno." Vanitas replies. Leveling up with Reno to watch.

Roxas grunts, throwing punch after punch, left-right-left-left-right. On and on, as if he has something burning inside of him that he can't quite get out.

"He looks stronger than before." Reno says quietly. "You and his parents did a wonderful job keeping him in shape." Roxas punches and kicks at the dummy, dodging invisible blows. Many of the other members watch him, their faces impassive. "Any news from his father?" he asks.

"None that he's willing to share if he _had_ any." Vanitas says. "Either his father hasn't contacted him since we arrived or he's not willing to tell."

Roxas swings his led through the air, connecting with the dummy's head. It rocks back. The blow would have knocked out a man. "Do you think he'll stand a chance against his mother, if she dares to come here? Or if he dares to go back?"

"I think if he doesn't get too riled and keeps a cool head if they meet, he might. But he's been . . . wild, lately. And unpredictable. He needs to learn to better control his feelings – especially that impossible anger."

"I thought emotional control was the point of being an assassin." Reno says.

"Not showing emotion and controlling it are two different things, Reno. It's more like he's had to suppress it most of his life. It's hard for him when he becomes afflicted with emotions that he doesn't understand, and at times cannot cope with."

Which is true. When looking at Roxas, one will know right away that his character is a tragic one. His own conception is that of a cruel one. A being destined to forever live in the shadow of their true self. Only a portion of a person as complete, lacking the emotions and hearts that many have held them back in the past. Vanitas doesn't know if it was because of his discovered heritage to just being an assassin; whatever the cause of that unyielding rage, he can never entirely leash himself.

"His own painful experiences have hardened him more so than anyone of the group. And making him the more calculating and aggressive of the group. He may have been the key of destiny, but that destiny has been a sad and dark one." Vanitas says quietly. More to himself than to Reno. "How was his reaction when you mentioned your "idea"?"

"It wasn't . . . pleasant." Reno answers.

"What was your approach?"

"I went to see him when he went to visit my brother –"

"And _there's_ your first mistake." Vanitas immediately interrupts as he turns away and takes a seat on one of the couch sets atop the mezzanine.

"What?"

"Roxas is very emotional when it comes to things like this. That's like talking about paying back money to someone at a funeral. Inappropriate and most likely to earn you a slap in the face."

Sora walks over to Roxas, fidgeting with his hands. Roxas pauses, rubbing his wrapped knuckles, and wipes the sweat from his eyes as he smiles at Sora. He says something to Roxas that sets him chuckling. Sora laughs, too. Reno raises his brows as Roxas demonstrates a move for Sora.

Reno sighs and retreats back and stands over Vanitas. He rubs his neck. "So how do you propose I handle this?"

"Well seeing as how you blew your first chance, I'd wait." Vanitas answers.

"How long?"

"Until you feel it's safe enough to approach him without him blocking you out."

"And when would that be?"

To this, Vanitas simply shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. He's unpredictable like that."

"Well you've been a great help." Reno rolls his eyes.

"Hey I'm just as anxious to get him into training as you –" Vanitas calls rising from his seat. "– but the problem remains that Roxas is still afraid of what he truly is, and doesn't want anything to do with it anytime soon. If I know him, his paranoia side is probably afraid to reveal what he is to anyone because of his mother. And you can't force him."

"But we need to get him into action so that he can help fight back the war between the city and the Guilds." Reno emphasizes.

"And telling him that will make him see you no different than his mother." Vanitas says.

"Why?"

"Because she did the same thing for the opposite reason. Look, if you truly want to go through with this, then the only advice I can give you is that you need to persuade Roxas."

"How with money and gifts?"

"No." Vanitas shakes his head. "You need to show him the benefits and pros of your argument. Make him want to do this. Roxas can't be bought. But I'm sure if you play your cards right, he'll accept them nonetheless without a second thought of your idea."

"I've tried."

"Not while he's sitting beside his medically-induced boyfriend! At least try to be considerate." Vanitas snaps. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Try and find something to do with him. Take him to the track, he loves horses. Or find him some appropriate jobs around town. It's obvious he _needs_ something to keep him busy."

With that, Vanitas turns away and starts towards the stairs.

"Anything else?" Reno calls.

Vanitas stops and turns to him, giving a sly grin. "Just don't be a dick."

Reno gives a vulgar exchange of his finger before Vanitas chuckles and turns away, shrinking as he descends the steps.

Turning back to the overlook, Reno observes as Roxas now watches Sora closely, scientifically with his hands behind his back as he walks around as Sora punches the dummy like he was. After another left-right-right-left, Roxas places his hand under Sora's to raise it slightly, then pushes it even more so slightly to the side before turning Sora's head away from him and keeping it staring at the dummy. Roxas smiles as Sora readies to punch the dummy again.

As he watches the two boys spar, Reno looks closer and sees the many scars that adorn Roxas' body. The history and stories that the boy must bear with those.

Then a thought occurs to Reno, and the more he starts to analyze it, the red-head grins excitedly.

Later that evening, Roxas looks down at himself, his mouth caught between a smile and a frown. "I honestly don't know what I did to deserve this."

The neck-to-toe black outfit is all made from the same, dark fabric – as thick as leather, but without the sheen. It is like a suit of armor, only skintight and made from some strange cloth, not metal. He can feel the weight of his weapons where they are concealed – so neatly that even someone patting him down might think they were merely ribbing – and he swings his arms experimentally.

"Careful." The short man in front of him says, his eyes wide. "You might take off my head."

Behind them, Reno chuckles from where he leans against the paneled of the training room. Roxas hadn't asked questions when Reno had summoned him, then tells him to put on the black suit and matching boots that were lined with fleece.

"When you want to unsheathe the blades," the inventor says, taking a large step back. "it's a downward sweep, and an extra flick of the wrist." He demonstrates the motion with his own scrawny arm, and Roxas echoes it.

Roxas grins as a narrow blade shoots out of a concealed flap in his forearm. Permanently attached to the suit, it is like having a short sword welded to his arm. He makes the same motion with the other wrist, and the twin blades appeared. Some internal mechanism has to be responsible for it – some brilliant contraption of springs and gears. He fives a few deadly swings in the air in front of him, reveling in the _whoosh-whoosh-whoosh_ of the swords. They are finely made, too. He raises his brows in admiration. "How do they go back?"

"Ah, a little more difficult." The inventor says. "Wrist angled up, and press this little button here. It should trigger the mechanism – there you go." Roxas watches the blade slide back into the suit, then released and returned the blade several times.

Despite the quality of the outfit, Roxas is still suspicious as to why it is Reno had given him such an extravagant gift. At last, Roxas looks at Reno. "How much is it?"

Reno pushes off the wall. "It's a gift. As are the boots." Roxas knocks a tow against the tiled floor, feeling the jagged edges and grooves of the soles. Perfect for climbing the sheepskin interior will keep his feet at body temperature, the inventor said, even if he got them utterly soaked. Roxas has never even _heard_ of a suit like this. It will completely change the way he conducted his missions. Not that he needed the suit to give him an edge. And not that he even has any missions to use it anyway. But he is Roxas Skyes, gods be damned, so doesn't he deserve the very best equipment? With this suit, no one will question his place as Kingdom Hearts' Assassin. Ever. And if they did . . . gods help them.

The inventor asks to take Roxas' final measurements, though the ones Reno had supplied were almost perfect. Swallowing his disturbance, Roxas lifts his arms out as the inventor does the measurements, asking Roxas bland questions about if he's recently settled into Ivalice or if he was vacationing. He is a master tinkerer, he said – and specialized in crafting things that are believed to be impossible. Like a suit that is both armor _and_ an armory, and lightweight enough to wear comfortably.

Roxas looks over his shoulder at Reno, who has watched his interrogation with a bemused smile. "Are you getting one made?"

"No. Only the best for the best." Roxas notices he didn't say "assassin" – but whatever the tinkerer thought about who Roxas was, his face yielded no sign.

Roxas couldn't hide his surprise. "Do you give gifts to all of your tenants?"

Reno shrugs, picking at his nails. "Only if it's affordable. I can't have a skilled warrior like you completely vulnerable, can I?"

Roxas hides his shock better this time, but he has to restrain from grabbing the tinkerer's wrist. A suit like this has to cost a small fortune. Materials aside, just the hours it must have taken the tinkerer to create it . . . Reno had to have commissioned them immediately after they had arrived in Ivalice. But if this sleezeball plans on making Roxas pay for it through labor, or worse force Axel to pay for it . . .

The clock chimes eight o'clock, and Reno lets out a long breath. "I have a meeting." He waves a ringed hand to the tinkerer. "Give the bill to my manservant when you're done." The master tinkerer nods, still measuring Roxas.

Reno approaches Roxas, each step as graceful as a movement of a dance. He plants a kiss on top of Roxas' head. "Axel is lucky to have you. Come to my office once your suit is ready." He murmurs into Roxas' hair. Forcing down the urgency to choke him or slap him, Roxas watches as Reno strolls from the room, whistling to himself.

The tinkerer kneels down to measure the length between Roxas' knee and boot tip, for whatever purpose that has. Roxas clears his throat, waiting until he is sure Reno is out of earshot. "Um, if I were to give you a piece of Angel's Hair, could you incorporate it into the uniform? It' small, so I'd just want it placed around the heart." He uses his hands to show the size of the material that he had been given by his father on their way back to the docks.

Angel's Hair is a near-mythical material made by horse-sized stygian spiders – so rare that you have to brave the spiders yourself to get it. And they don't trade gold. No, they coveted things like dreams and memories and souls. His father ahd said he'd taken it from a merchant who had traded twenty-years of his youth for a hundred yards of it. And after a long, strange conversation with him, he'd given Cloud a few square inches of Angel's Hair. _A reminder_ , his father had quoted. _That everything has a price_.

How many times Roxas was tempted to gamble that simple piece of fabric. The money he would bank, the fights it would start among many. But unlike Axel's ring on his ring finger, of which Roxas feels with his thumb, Angel's Hair is of more tremendous value; and Roxas had always felt that his father had given it to him to be used, and this has to be one of the ways he could.

The master tinkerer's bushy brows rise. "I – I suppose. To the interior or the exterior? I think the interior," he goes on, answering his own questions. "If I sewed it to the exterior, the iridescence might ruin the stealth of the black. But it'd turn any blade, and it's just barely the right size to shield the heart. Oh, what I'd give for ten yards of Angel's Hair. You'd be invincible, my boy."

Roxas smiles slowly. "As long as it guards the heart."

He leaves the tinkerer in the hall. His suit will be ready the day after tomorrow. He still needs to change out of it and bring it back downstairs to the tinkerer so he can make his final adjustments in whatever shop he'd set up while he was staying in Lesalia. Still, Reno said to come to the office once the suit was done. And besides, Roxas had more than a few things to say to Reno.

He makes his way down the hallway until he finds two well-polished, wooden sliding doors with one of them pushed aside revealing the spacious study that takes up nearly half of the west wing of the mansion.

The study consisted of two levels, one being the living area, then the upper floor housed all of the books and scrolls and papers and documents. And it consisted entirely of polished cherry wood. A gorgeous crystal chandelier hangs at the center of the high ceiling with matching sconces placed around each shelf on both levels. Directly under the chandelier is a mahogany coffee table bordering a pane of glass stacked with more books and a vase of roses set at the center. A grand fireplace – the mantel piece incorporated with stone to accompany the wood – and plush couches and armchairs huddle in front of a long and intricately designed desk where Reno sits now. The baluster, instead of having simple wooden posts, is replaced with delicate vines and tendrils and curl and gracefully take up the space. The desk is in front of large window crosshatched with X's, and reveals the gorgeous landscape that surrounds the kingdom.

Reno immediately looks up as Roxas enters, and smiles. "It looks good on you."

"Thanks." Roxas makes to put his hands on his hips, but stops. Until he masters the suit, he has to watch how he moves – or else he can skewer someone. "But you can't do things like that."

"Like what?"

"Don't play dumb, or I will rip your eyeballs and replace them with billiards balls." Roxas growls.

Reno looks to him surprised. "Was I really that rash with you?"

"You can't do things to me like that when I'm partnered with your brother." Roxas says as he steps further into the room. He bypasses the chairs and couch and stands directly in front of Reno's desk.

"I can assure you my notions are harmless."

"Well a warning next time would've been nice." Roxas snaps.

To his irritation, Reno chuckles. "Vanitas was right, you _are_ amusing when you're upset." Before Roxas can verbally lash out at him, Reno holds up a hand. "Look, I assure you I respect you and my brother's relationship, but at the same time you shouldn't be afraid to take a few friendly gestures. Haven't you ever had a, comfortable friendship?"

Roxas bites his bottom lip. "There has never been a grey are for me. Either someone passionately hated me or loved me. But now, now it's only with people I'm close to."

"Very well," Reno nods. "Then I apologize on my behalf, and I hope that I will work my way into becoming your friend."

"I – I didn't –"

"Please," Reno says, holding up his hand again. "we have more important matters to discuss, and I'd like to explain to you the detail sometime tonight." He motions Roxas to take a seat in one of the armchairs, and this time Roxas accepts but sits on the very edge of the seat to ensure he won't stab himself with a hidden blade.

"So what seems to be the reason as to why you gave me this?" Roxas asks.

Reno smirked. "You want to do something useful. So here's your chance." Roxas leans forward as Reno pushes a map of the Lesalia area of Ivalice towards him. "I was given a report this morning –" he points to a small red dot near Zeltennia, close to the Poescas Lake. "– a body was found at Zeltennia, in its castle."

Roxas swore and his nostrils flared. A miserable sort of pressure and heat begins building under his skin. "And why would you be receiving this information?"

"Well, despite your thinking of me as a possible gambler and womanizer –"

"I never said that."

"But you were thinking it. And anyway, I also volunteer at the guards' barracks and help out with crime investigations. This is their most recent case. They don't think that it's connected to anything, yet. And while Guilds aren't as prominent as they are in your continent of kingdom Hearts, they're still around; but they've never been this bold."

"At least you didn't think I had something to do with that." Roxas smirks.

"Not like you had the stability to be able to do something like this. Well, not anymore." Reno says, his eyes gazing along Roxas' body. He nearly wants to rake his nails down Reno's face for looking at him like that.

But hiding his snarl, Roxas leans inwards towards the map. "So they don't have any idea who it is other than thieves?"

"Like I said, we have a Thieves Guild in general, but their fort is all the way out in Gallione. And it would seem rather pointless just travel all the way out there to kill and to come back, or to dump the body."

"Not unless you want to desperately cover it up. Usually if it's someone important." Roxas says.

"Just a member of the guard." Reno says. "But, if you want you, I have plenty of other jobs like this, if you're interested."

"You're letting me handle this? Do they know who I am?" Roxas asks, his eyes brows high.

"I'm going with you, obviously. I've told them some of your . . . stories, but they don't know who you are, obviously. Otherwise you'd be in jail." Reno explains. "Not to mention that you're still a teenager, and being one year off still isn't going to help you."

"But why offer this to me?" Roxas repeats.

"Do you not want it?"

"I do! But I just want to know why?"

"Well, Vanitas had told me how you want to stray from your past lineage, and I am sick and tired of seeing you always sulking around the house. You need to get out there, and this'll help you because you're assisting members of the guard. You'll be doing good!"

Roxas lowers his gaze to the small area of Zeltennia, examining the area around it. "And I suppose you gave me this suit so that I would say yes?" he smirks.

Reno shrugs. "I would've given it to you wither way, but I won't deny that it was part of my grand master plan to get you active." He winks.

To Reno's surprise, and even to his own, Roxas smiles. "I shall gladly accept your job. But the suit won't be ready until a day after tomorrow."

"That'll be fine, just wear normal clothes. We can ride there on horseback. Shouldn't take more than a day." Reno says. "Though if you were to use your Elven abilities . . ."

"Reno." Roxas snaps.

He holds up his hands in submission. "Alright, alright. Worth a shot." He sets his hands on the arms of the chair and pushes to stand. "We'll leave in the morning."

Roxas shakes his head as he rises from his seat. "Who will be watching over the mansion? Axel?"

"I'll have Vanitas and Tidus in charge, and maybe Riku, he seems like a capable leader."

"Fair enough." Roxas sighs. "I'm going to go return the suit."

"Okay. Thank you for agreeing with this, Roxas."

"Thank you for offering it to me." Roxas says as he continues towards the door.

"Roxas," Reno calls just as Roxas has his hand on the brass knob. Roxas turns to him. The aurora of twilight leaking into the window silhouettes Reno, but also casts shadows on his face making appear as flawless as a statue, his red hair shining. "Please know that, I really am trying to help you. Please just, understand that."

Roxas simply stares at Reno for a moment of silence. Reno sees him exhale before silently turning away and opening the door. Roxas ever so slightly looks over his shoulder back towards the red-head. "Thank you." He mumbles. He then steps out into the hall, the door quietly shutting behind him.

The next morning, Roxas rises early and quickly squeezes in a small workout before hopping into the tub and scrubbing himself thoroughly. He then changes into a clean tunic and pants, making sure to keep the legendary blades of Oblivion and Oathkeeper on his waist along with his variety of daggers and the pistol he still rarely ever uses. There have been debates in the past of whether to leave it behind or to just dispose of it, but thinking back to how he had earned it, it's like a treasured object he can't seem to let go. So he clips it onto his belt, keeping it close to the hilt of Oathkeeper.

He leaves a note for Sora on his desk, knowing that the boy will come in within a matter of a couple of hours. Artemis lies on the bed, chewing on a bone. With a pet and kiss on the dog's head, Roxas leaves the room and jogs his way down the halls and then down one of the two grand staircases and out towards the back to the stables.

As he sees Reno adjusting the reins of his horse, he looks to find a gorgeous, painted Clydesdale shaking her head and counting the dirt with her hoof. Her head turns as Roxas approaches and huffs and Roxas can see a pale grey cloak draped over the saddle. Reno turns to Roxas, his eyes widening and eyebrows rising.

"Wow." He breathes.

Roxas smiles, but crosses his arms. His white shirt is tight enough that Reno can see Roxas' muscles shifting beneath. Without exchanging a word, Roxas takes the cloak and wraps it around his shoulders and then mounts his already prepped mare and steadies the reins.

Within minutes, Roxas and Reno ride down the gravel road, guards merely waved them through the walls, some even backing away. Roxas pulls his pale hood over his chestnut brown hair and trots ahead. Once they're through the gates, Roxas is just admiring the green of the rolling hills when there's a smack at the back of his head and the feeling of rushing wind as Reno speeds by.

"Hey!" Roxas shouts, anger on his face, but quickly receding as he sees the bemused smile on Reno's face. Then he looks to Reno's horse and finds the horse huffing and shaking his head. Roxas can feel his own horse shifting and feels a building energy of excitement.

A mischievous smile growing on his lips, Roxas tightens his grip on the reins and snaps them, sending his horse into a sprint. Reno follows and his horse levels with Roxas'. The two of them smiling as the wind sears their hair and kisses their cheeks.

Roxas and Reno ride down the dusty road that meanders between the boulder-spotted grasslands and into the eastern foothills. Roxas has already memorized enough maps of Ivalice to know that they have passed through them and then over the towering Germinas Peak that marks the connection between the mortal-ruled Ivalice and the immortal lands of King Sephiroth.

The sun is setting as they slowed their horses and ascended the foothills, the road growing rockier, bordered on one side by rather harrowing ravines. For a mile, Roxas debated asking Reno where he planned to stay the night. But he is too tired not just from the day or the riding.

In his bones, in his blood and breath and soul, Roxas is so, so tried. Talking to anyone is too taxin. Which makes Reno the perfect companion: he doesn't say a single word to Roxas. Whatever joy they had while riding through Ivalice, it slowly has diminished as the doubts and struggle start to creep their way back into Roxas' mind, making him question whether or not he really is doing the right thing.

They reach their destination too soon as twilight falls. The road brings them through a dense forest that spreads into and over the mountains, the trees from cypress to oak, from narrow to tall and proud, full of thickets and scattered mossy boulders. Even in the growing dark, the forest seems to be breathing. The warm air hums, leaving a metallic taste coating Roxas' tongue. Far behind them, thunder grumbles.

Roxas is starting to see why there would be a body out here. The forest all around them, and with limited contacts of people besides the castle, it would be too late for anyone to identify a body with the weather even after it is found. Hopefully they're not too late.

As they trot up the woodchip path, one of the two guards posted outside the main gate hurries towards them. He hurries up to Reno, wielding a long spear. Even under his steel helmet, Roxas can see his skin is slightly pale. "Reno, thank goodness. They're inside." He breathes.

"Is the body still there?"

"They haven't touched it. Too afraid. Come with me."

Reno motions the guard to lead the way, and then looks over his shoulder to Roxas. "You ready to prove how good you are?"

Despite the body, Roxas gives a catlike smile. "Do I even need to?"

He follows Reno past the black iron spiked gates and dismounts quickly as they are quickly led through the castle, not even taking time to take in the details of the décor. Thankfully, someone has created some semblance of order before they arrived. Even still, Reno has to push his way through a crowd of gathered guards and servants, and even the young king who ruled the castle, Roxas keeping close behind him.

When they reach the edge of the crowd and behold the body, Roxas' hands slacken at his sides. Reno curses with impressive violence.

Roxas doesn't know where to look first. At the body, with the gaping chest cavity and missing brain and face, at the claw marks gouged into the ground, or at the strange arcane marks, drawn on either side of the body in chalk. His blood goes cold. There is no denying their connection. This was done by some person wielding magic.

The crowd continues talking as Reno approaches the body, then turns to the king, exchanging a quick bow of respect, the king watching him. "Your Majesty." He says.

The King bows his head slightly and his eyes turn to Roxas. "This is your backup?"

"The best of the best." Reno grins, the smile seemingly appropriate despite the dead body. The King merely sighs, slightly shaking his head. Ignoring the doubt he can feel seeping from the king, Roxas turns to the body. "Who is it?" Reno asks.

"My nephew, Verin." the king says. His voice it tight, and he has to swallow a couple times before speaking. "He was training to become the captain. He was only twenty-seven."

"What kind of animal makes scratches like those?" Roxas asks Reno, a bit too quickly to pass for unconcerned. But he doesn't need to her Reno's reply to know that his guess is as food as Roxas'. The claw marks are deep – a quarter inch at least. Roxas crouches beside one and runs his finger along the interior edge. It is jagged, but cut clean into the stone floor. Roxas' brows knotting, he scans the other claw marks.

"There's no blood in these claw marks." Roxas says, twisting his head to look over his shoulder at Reno. He kneels beside Roxas as he points to them. "They're clean."

"Which means?"

Roxas frowns, fighting the chill that runs down his arms. "Whatever did this sharpened its nails before it gutted him."

"And why is _that_ important?"

Roxas stands, looking up and down the hallway, then squats again. "It means this thing had time to do that before it attacked him."

"It could have done it while lying in wait."

Roxas shakes his head. "Those torches along the wall are almost burnt to stubs. There aren't any signs of them bring extinguished before the attack – there are no traces of sooty water. If his nephew died last night, then those torches were still burning when he died."

"And?"

"And look at this hallway. The nearest doorway is fifty feet down, and the nearest corner is a bit father than that. If those torches were burning –"

"Then he would have seen whatever it was long before he got to this spot." Reno finishes.

"So why get near it?" Roxas asks, more to himself than anything. "What if it wasn't an animal, but a person? And what if that person disabled him long enough for them to summon this creature?" he points to Verin's legs. "Those are clean cuts around his ankles. His tendons were snapped by a knife, to keep him from running." Roxas moves next to the body, taking care not to disturb the magic marks etched into the ground as he lifts Verin's rigid, cold hand. "Look at his fingernails." He swallows hard. "The tips are cracked and shattered." He uses his own nail to scrap out the dirt beneath his nails, and smears it across his palm. "See?" Roxas holds out his hand out for Reno to observe. "Dust and bits of stone." Roxas pulls aside Verin's arm, revealing faint lines in the stone beneath. "Fingernail marks. It was desperate to get away – to drag himself by his fingertips, if necessary. He was alive the entire time that thing sharpened its claws on the stone while its master watched."

"So what does that mean?"

Roxas' face pales, but he smiles grimly at Reno, the king just behind him. "It means that you're in a lot of trouble."

"Please, if there is a threat in the castle, I need you both to stay here. My wife, my daughter –!" the king babbles.

"Staying in a dark castle in the middle of nowhere when there's dark creature and master on the loose? Smart." Roxas folds his arms as he rises from the body.

"Roxas." Reno says softly, glaring at the boy before he turns to the king. "Your majesty, we will stay, and scour the castle. But with your permission, we'd like to have some of your guards as well. We don't know what we're up against –"

A chill runs up Roxas' spine and he whirls drawing his dagger. Before Reno can call his name, a powerful gust of wind hurls through the hallway, extinguishing all but the two torches flanking the body of the king's nephew.

Complete darkness.

The hair on the back of his neck rises. Roxas reaches up to feel for the small sack of dirt from Ventus' grave. A faint glow issues from Oblivion – a glow that allows Roxas to see only dim shapes, as if the darkness is too strong for the sword. The only other time he'd seen the sword glow like that . . . Taking a step back into the circular light of the two remaining torches, not daring to turn around.

There is a scrape of nail against stone, and then the sound of breathing.

It was not his own.


	6. Chapter 5

It peers out from the shadows of the bedroom down the hallway, clutching at its cloak with taloned hands.

 _Food. More food_. This was like a grand banquet for it.

The boy with the dirty-blonde hair looks so warm, so teeming with life. He draws a sword that beams with an agonizing light. Light that burns its sensitive eyes. There was always something that sent it skittering back to the comfort of cold stone.

Rats and crawling things had been its only food for too long, their blood and bones thin and tasteless.

Since it had escaped that horrid place, since they had gotten tired of playing with it, it had forgotten so many things. It had forgotten its own name, forgotten what it used to be. But it knew more useful things – better things. How to hunt, how to feed, how to use those marks to open and close doors. It had paid attention during the long years; it had watched them make the marks.

And once they had left, it had waited until it knew they weren't coming back. Until _she_ was looking elsewhere and had taken all her other things with her. And then it had begun opening the doors, one after another. Some shred of it remained mortal enough to always seal those doors shut, to come back here and form the marks again that locked the doors, to keep it contained.

But he had been there. He had learned the marks. Which meant he had to know – to know what had been done to it. He had to have been a part of it, the breaking and the shattering and then the brutal rebuilding. And since he had come here with that red-head . . .

This male . . . it had seen him once before. When he had come down into the depths in search of that golden-haired man who looked a lot like him. A father maybe? The two of them had looked like death itself, so it didn't have the courage to even consider taking them on.

The creature ducks into another shadow.

Roxas keeps an eye on the guards, allowing them to take one torch to escort the king out of the palace. He even told Reno to go with them, and to Roxas' surprise but relief, Reno didn't argue; merely said to come find him near the front door when he is done. He had invited Roxas here to do justice, and that's what he plans to do.

Roxas takes another step back, but stops when the breathing halts. Silence.

The blue light around him grows brighter.

That blue light tastes of power. But in here, in the shadow of the black, breathing stone, that light is diminished. In here, now that it has put out the torches that were ignited, there is nothing to stop it, and no one to hear any of them as it annihilates them all and that pity king.

It had not forgotten, even in the twisted pathways of its memory, what had been done to it on that stone table.

Roxas grips the sword tighter. The sword flares.

And then he sees it . . .

With a dripping maw, it smiles.

Oblivion burns bright as a flame, and there is a hiss in his ear.

Roxas whirls, striking before he could get a good look at the cloaked figure behind him. He glimpses only a flash of withered skin and jagged, stumpy teeth before he slices Oblivion across its chest.

It screams – screams like nothing Roxas has ever heard as the ragged cloth rips, revealing a bony, misshapen chest peppered with scars. It slams a clawed hand into his face as it falls, its eyes gleaming from the light of the sword. An animal's eyes, capable of seeing in the dark.

Roxas doesn't even see where he had wounded the creature as he hits the ground. Blood rushes from his nose and fills his mouth. He staggers into a sprint down the hallway.

He dodges around hallway furniture and statues of knightly armor, letting Oblivion light his way, barely keeping his footing as he slips on rugs stretching across the wood. The creature barrels after him, tearing through the obstacles as if they are no more than gossamer curtains. It stands like a man, but it isn't a man – no, that face is something out of a nightmare. And its strength, to be able to shove aside those massive tables and granite statues as though they are stalks of wheat . . .

Where had this thing come from?

And what does it want?

Roxas dashes up a flight of short stairs and through the first doorway. As he veers left, it catches Roxas by the back of his tunic. The cloth tears. Roxas slams into the opposite wall, ducking as if lunges for him.

Oblivion sings, and the creature roars, falling back. Black blood squirts from the wound across its abdomen. But Roxas didn't cut deep enough. Surging to his feet, blood running down his back from where its claws had punctured, Roxas draws a dagger with his other hand.

This is bad. This could be the creature's homecourt advantage. Roxas doesn't know how this castle was built, he doesn't know of any secret passageways or hidden hidey-holes. And who knows how long this creature has been here. It could know this castle like the back of its claw-hand, thing. He just has to keep running and just hope that he won't lead himself into a dead end. Still, he faces the creature to get a look. Having to face this thing head on . . .

The hood has fallen off the creature, revealing what looks like a man's face – looks like, but no longer is. His hair is sparse, hanging off his gleaming skull in clumpy strings, and his lips . . . there is such scarring around his mouth, as though someone has ripped it open and sewed it shut then ripped it open again.

The creature pushes a gnarled hand against its abdomen, panting through those brown, broken teeth as if looks at Roxas – _looked_ at him with such hatred that Roxas can't move. It is such a human expression . . .

"What _are_ you?" Roxas gasps, swinging Oblivion as he takes another step back.

But it suddenly begins clawing at itself, tearing at the dark robes, pulling out its hair, pushing against its skull, as if it will reach in and rip something out. And the shrieks it makes, the rage and despair –

He knows what it is. He has seen it before.

This is the creature had been _in the castle hallway_.

Which meant . . .

This thing, this person – it knew how to use magic markings, too. And with its unnatural strength, no mortal barrier will keep it contained.

The creature tips its head back, and its animal eyes settle on Roxas again. Fixating. A predator anticipating the taste of its prey.

Roxas turns and runs like hell.

After following the guards down a series of hallway, and escorting the king through a secret back door, Reno is now wandering through the dimly lit hallways trying to make his way back to the front doors for Roxas. Except, most of the castle is dark now, and he let the guards take the one torch.

Reno has just passed through the third door when he hears the scream of something not human. A series of crashing noises fills the entirety of the grand foyer, and the bellowing is cut short with each slam.

"Roxas?" Reno yells in the direction of the commotion.

Another slam.

"Roxas!"

Then – " _Reno, run_!"

The high-pitched scream that follows Roxas' command shakes the walls. The torches sputter.

Reno draws his rapier as Roxas comes flying up the stairs, blood leaking from his face, and slams the wood door shut behind him. Roxas races towards him, a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. The hilt of the black sword in his hand glows purple, like the hottest fire.

Roxas is upon Reno in a second. The wooden door bursts open behind them, and –

The thing that comes out is not of this earth – it can't be. It looks like something that used to be a man, but is twisted and dried and broken, with hunger and madness written on every protruding bone in its body. _Gods. Oh, gods_. Where had this thing come from?

They sprint down the hall, and Reno swears as he beholds the steps up to the next door. The time it would take for them to climb the stairs . . .

But Roxas is fast. And the months, the _years_ of training has made him strong. To Reno's eternal humiliation, as they hit the bottom of the stairs, Roxas grasps him by the collar of his tunic, half-hauling Reno up the steps. He hurls Reno into the hallway beyond the threshold.

Behind them, the thing shrieks. Reno turns in time to see its broken teeth glistening as it leaps up the stairs. Lightning swift, Roxas slams the iron door shut in the creature's face; slamming into the last door that separates the thing's lair from the rest of the castle.

Only one more door – he can picture the landing that leads back to the first hallway, then that spiral staircase, then the second staircase, and –

What then, when they reach the main floor? What can they do against this thing?

As Reno sees the naked terror on Roxas' face, he knew he wondered the same thing.

Roxas puts his weigh into it and sees stars as the creature barrels into the other side. Gods, it is strong – strong and wild and unyielding . . .

For a moment, Roxas stumbles away, and it tries to fling open the door. But Roxas lunges, throwing his back against it.

Its hand catches in the door and the creature bellows, latching its claws into Roxas' shoulder as he pushes and pushes. Roxas screams in pain, scared as he hears a crack of bone; but can't tell if it was his or the creature's. Blood runs from his nose, mingling with the blood running down his shoulders. The claws dig in farther.

Reno rushes to the door, bracing his back against it. He pants, gaping at Roxas.

They have to seal the door. Even if this thing is intelligent enough to know the magic spells, they have to buy some time for themselves. He has to give Reno enough time to get away. They will run out of strength soon, and the thing will break through and kill them and whoever else gets in its path.

There has to be a lock somewhere, some way to shut it in, to slow it down just for a moment.

"Push," Roxas breathes to Reno. The creature gains an inch, but Roxas shoves hard, drawing on the strength of his legs. It roars again, so loudly that he thought blood would pour from his ears. Reno swears viciously.

"Roxas!" he screams.

He glances at Reno, not even feeling the pain of the talons embedded in his skin. Roxas shakes his head. He already knows what Reno wants without even having to look at him. He wants him to change. Change into his Elven form; because maybe then they will stand a chance, and Roxas can even barricade the door without effort.

But Roxas just shakes his head again. He can't.

He just _can't_.

Sweat runs down Roxas' brow as – as –

The metal begins to heat along the edge of the door, glowing red, then fizzing –

Magic is here; magic is working right now, trying to seal the door against the creature. Reno turns to Roxas, his skin turning pale.

Roxas' eyes are scrunched in concentration, his face deathly pale. And if he doesn't stop, he is going to bur himself out on the door.

The door suffocates Roxas. He is in a coffin, a coffin with no hair. His magic can't breathe. _He_ can't breathe.

Still he swears as the creature gains ground. Roxas doesn't even know what he is doing, only that he _needs_ to seal this door. His magic has chosen the method. He pushes with his legs, pushes with his back, pushing his magic to the breaking point as he sought to weld the door. Spinning, heat, strangling . . .

The magic slips from him.

The creature pushes hard, sending Reno staggering forward. But Roxas throws himself harder against the door as Reno regains his balance.

Roxas' blade lies a few feet away, but what good is a sword?

They have no hope of escaping with their lives.

Roxas' eyes meet with his, the question all too visible on his bloodied face:

 _What do we do_?

If he doesn't stop, he is going to burn himself out on the door.

Still gripped by the creature's talons, Roxas can't even move as Reno makes a sudden lunge for Oblivion. The creature tries again to break free, and the red-head swings, making direct contact with its wrist. Its shriek penetrates Roxas' bones, but the door slams shut completely. Roxas stumbles, the beast's dismembered hand protruding from his shoulder, but Roxas shoves back against the door as the creature again launches itself at it.

"What the hell is it?" Reno barks, throwing his weight back against the iron.

"Heartless." Roxas breathes. Not having the luxury of a healer, Roxas rips way the filthy hand from his shoulder, biting down his scream. "It was down there," he pants. "In the castle . . . back in Kingdom Hearts. Traverse Town." Another thud from behind the door. "You can't seal the door with magic. We need to – need to seal this another way." And find something that will outsmart whatever unlocking spells this creature knew – some way to keep it from getting out. Roxas chokes on the blood running down from his nose into his mouth, and spits it onto the floor. "There's got to be something we can use. That king has to have some spell books around here. Like in the library or a study."

One of the few "coincidences" that Roxas had noticed upon their arrival is that the king was Elven. His features were sculpted perfectly and his pointed ears were drooping when he was begging Roxas and Reno to stay.

"Even so, I wouldn't know which one would work!" Reno says.

Roxas' ear twitches. Whispers in the dark . . . "There is a book – _The Walking Dead_. It'll have the answers."

Their eyes meet and hold. A line stretches taut between them – a moment of trust, and a promise of answers from both of them.

"Where is the book?" Reno asks.

"In the library. It'll find you. I can hold this for a few moments."

Not needing it to make sense, Reno bolts upstairs.

The moment he is out of sight, Roxas looks to the door, and takes a deep breath. He pierces through that transulscent veil, barely registering the pain of his shift as his teeth stretch and his ears point erect; the noise of the creature is even more straining, and its smell almost makes Roxas vomit. But the strength that flows into his body makes his feet stand sturdier, his wounds healing faster as he hears feels the tickling on his neck.

But then – the iron door singes him. It feels as if he is in a hearth right now, and the iron door is a pile of coals. Still, Roxas shoves against the door and grins with satisfactory as he hears the creature yelp and stumble back.

Reno runs through stack after stack, his fingers reading the titles, faster and faster, knowing each second drains Roxas' strength. He is about to bellow his frustration when he runs past a table and beholds a large black volume resting upon its surface.

 _The Walking Dead_.

Roxas had been right. Why is he always right, in his own odd way? Reno grabs the book and hurtles to the stairs.

The sound of footsteps sound from up above, and Roxas shifts back into his frail, mortal form. The Heartless' strength outweighs him completely.

Roxas had shut his eyes, and his teeth are red with his own blood as he grits them.

"Here." Reno says. Without needing to ask him, Reno shoves himself into the door as Roxas drops to the floor and grabs the book to his hands. His hands tremble as he slips a page, then another, and another. He blood splatters onto the text.

"'To bind or to contain.'" He reads aloud. Reno peers down at the dozens of symbols on the page.

"This will work?" he asks.

"I hope so." Roxas wheezes, already moving, clutching the open book in one hand. "Once the spell is cast, just passing over that threshold will hold it in place long enough to kill it." He dips his fingers into the wounds on his chest, and Reno can only gape as Roxas makes the first mark, and then the second, turning his battered body into an inkwell as he draws mark after mark around the door.

"But for it to pass over the threshold," Reno pants. "we'd have to –"

"Open the door." Roxas finishes for him, nodding.

Reno shifts so Roxas can reach to draw above his head, their breath mingling.

Roxas lets out a long breath as he makes the last mark, and suddenly, they glow faint blue. Reno holds himself against the door, even as he feels the iron go rigid.

"You can let go," Roxas breathes, angling his sword. "Let go, and get the hell behind me."

At least he didn't insult Reno by telling him to flee.

With a final breath, Reno leaps away.

The creature slams into the door, flinging it open.

And, just like Roxas had said, it freezes on the threshold, its animalistic eyes wild as its head juts out into the hall. There is a pause then, a pause during which Reno could have sworn Roxas and the creature looked at each other – and its wildness calmed, just for a moment. Just for a moment, and then Roxas moves.

The sword flashes in the torchlight, and there is the squish of flesh and crunch of bone. The neck is too thick to sever in one blow, so before Reno could draw another breath, Roxas strikes again.

The head hits the ground with a thud, black blood spraying from the severed neck – from the body that still stands paralyzed in the doorway.

"Shit," Reno breathes. "Shit."

Roxas moves again, slamming his sword down onto the head, skewering it, as if he thought it could still bite.

Reno is still spewing a steady stream of curses as Roxas reaches out to the bloody marks around the door and swipes a finger through one of them.

The creature's headless body collapses, the holding spell broken.

It has barely finished falling before Roxas makes four strikes: three to sever the emaciated torso in two, and a fourth too stab through where its heart would be. Reno's bile rises up again as Roxas angles his blade a fifth time, prying open the chest cavity of the creature.

And whatever Roxas saw makes his face go even paler. Reno doesn't want to look.

Reno had heard stories of how Roxas is: how he fights, how skilled he is. And now he's seeing it with his own eyes. Reno doesn't know whether to be amazed, horrified or disturbed.

With grim efficiency, Roxas kicks the too-human head through the threshold, sending it knocking into the withered corpse of the creature. Then he shuts the iron door and traces a few more marks over the threshold that glow and then fade.

Roxas faces him, but Reno looks at the door again, now sealed.

"How longs that – that _spell_ hold?" Reno almost chokes on the word.

"I don't know." Roxas says shaking his head. "Until I remove the marks, I think."

"I don't think the king will want to stay here any longer once he hears about this." Reno says carefully.

Roxas laughs, a bit wildly. Telling others, even Vanitas, will mean answering difficult questions – questions that can earn them both a stern lecture.

"So," Roxas says, spitting blood onto the stones. "The next time you invite me to one of your "jobs," remind me to say no."

Reno looks to the boy, feeling brief worry until he sees the rather, amused grin on the boys' face. Carefully exchanging the gesture, he watches as the assassin sheathes the bloodied sword and starts to walk down the opposite end of the hall. With another glance towards the door, Reno shakes his head and hurries after him.

They spend the next five hours scouring every inch of the Zeltennian castle: checking all of the passages of the servants, examining every bedroom – of which Roxas blessed with a protective spell – checking the studies and scouring the gran ballrooms and grand halls and gardens. Once their inspection was complete and the entire castle deemed safe enough, they decide to go back to the king. But Roxas is left disappointed as he did not find the source of where the creature had come from or any signs of who could've brought it here. No missing books, no smeared markings on the wall or floor, nothing. Nothing but the chopped up karakas deep in the bowels of the castle.

When they make it back to the king – of whom they found in a small but luxurious cabin not too far from the castle – the guards' eyes widen and even shows slight fear as Roxas is the one to approach the king. His wounds still bleeding and staining into his once white tunic and smeared on his face. The tainted blade of his sword catches the attention of the king also, as he tells him what he had found and what they had done. The king looked relieved, but also still troubled when Roxas says how they couldn't find the origins of the creature's whereabouts or who had summoned it. But he still smiles when Roxas informs him of the protection spells he had casted in and around the castle and its many rooms. Surely the king was grateful for the effort it must've taken to _do_ all of those rooms.

When Roxas finishes, the king rose from his seat and takes the assassin's hands in his. He says words of gratitude and even goes as far as kissing Roxas' brow and hands before urgently calling a healer to look at their injuries.

Reno let Roxas go first, because he desperately needed to change out of his filthy tunic, and talking seemed like a good idea while Roxas stripped naked in the dressing room offered by the king. Reno sits on the bed of the guest room of the cabin, not looking too bad himself – which is why he allowed Roxas the first to be examined.

"Well, at least we can say it wasn't a complete waste of time." Reno says, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. He catches a gleam of golden skin through the half-open door to Roxas' dressing room, and looks away. "But are you really not interested in taking on any more of these jobs. I mean, they separate you from the normal mercenary."

Roxas wasn't done with these jobs, not even in the slightest. Besides the fact that the only other Heartless he had encountered was back in Kingdom Hearts, he knew that this creature had been made, because in its chest had been a human heart.

But that couldn't explain why the creature had been able to break out before and had never hurt anyone until now.

But perhaps the man that the creature had once been . . . perhaps he hadn't been entirely lost. There are so many questions now, so many things left unanswered.

"And that last spell you did – on the door. It'll keep forever?" Reno asks.

Roxas appears in a new tunic and pants, still barefoot. The sight of his feet feels strangely intimate. He shrugs, still wiping his face with a clean towel. "The book says it's a permanent binding spell, so I don't think anyone but us will be capable of getting through." He runs a hand through his hair, sitting down beside Reno on the bed.

"Where did it come from?" Reno asks.

"I don't know." He says. "The last time I saw one, my friend Zexion had accidentally summoned it when –" Roxas' throat tightens immediately and he has to cough a few times before it loosens.

"Before what?" Reno asks. Roxas is silent. "Tell me."

Roxas' hand reaches up and grasps the small pouch containing dirt from Ventus' grave. He sighs. "I don't want to talk about it. Please, respect that. It's personal."

"Hey," Reno says as he holds up his hands. "No need to tell me twice. Not like I'm going to question the boy who killed a Heartless and who protected me."

Roxas smirks, but doesn't chuckle. They call it a Heartless, when really, it is the direct opposite of what its name accuse it to be. And who knows, if Reno's jobs all consists of this kind of circumstance, perhaps they are connected in a way. And if they can give him answers, why not take on a few more?

"So, are we staying here for the night?" Roxas asks.

"If you want to. Though I think we both know it's better if we don't." Reno says. And it's true. Despite his body pleading with him to drop into the bed and close his eyes, Roxas does not think he'll be able to sleep tonight after this. But at the same time, it can't be that safe to travel at night, not if the wielder of the Heartless is still roaming around the area.

"We shall nap until twilight. Then we shall depart back towards Lesalia." Roxas instructs. How badly he wanted to just go back to the mansion and just sit by Axel's bed. Quiet all around him, and the peacefulness of the room overtake him. Hopefully things will still be okay when they get back. But still just being away for a mere day and Roxas is already anxious.

When Roxas lifts his gaze, unaware he was staring vacantly at a plank of wood in the floor, he finds Reno staring at him. Not just staring, examining, observing.

"What?" Roxas asks.

Reno merely gives a lift of his eyebrows and Roxas groans with annoyance as he picks up on what Reno is silently implying.

"Look, we both know what I want to say, and we know how this is going to end, so let me just say it." Reno says calmly; knowing all too well that it is too late and Roxas is too riled for this. And after tonight, after seeing his skills in action, Reno knows not to push too much. One wrong word and Roxas will explode Reno across the walls.

"If you know how it's going to end, why bother bringing it up?" Roxas snarls as he pushes further into the bed, setting his back against the headboard.

"Because it needs to be discussed."

Roxas sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why didn't you transform? It would've been so much easier for all of us. You could've taken that thing down with two swipes, maybe even a blast of magic –!"

"I don't want that kind of power, Reno. Nobody should have that kind of power."

"Well _you do_ , Roxas. And it's your duty to use the gifts you've been given to win this war!"

"It is not my duty to do anything, okay! And what does it matter, we got through it, we're alive!"

"Yeah, by the skin of our noses. It would've been over and done with like that." Reno emphasizes with a snap of his fingers. "I just want to know why. That's all."

"Because I was scared, Reno!" Roxas says. "The last time I had transformed, my demented mother had taken control of my mind and used me as a killing machine!"

"But that doesn't mean that it _is_ that just because of that one experience." Reno drops his voice low and soft. "And you're only afraid of it because you fear you can't control it. But you can't control it because you refuse to do training. It's just that simple, Roxas. It's down in stone. You're going in circles here."

Roxas shakes his head and brings up one legs, clasping it by the ankles. He stares out the small circular window for a moment, then swallows. "So say I do agree to train with my Elven heritage. What then? Who will we find to teach me? Who will train me; an Elf, a mortal?"

"Roxas, I promise. All you have to do is agree to do so, and I will take care of the rest. I promise."

"That's what I'm worried about." Roxas smirks, but he can see the relief on Reno's face out of the corner of his eye.

If Roxas is going to take on these other jobs, with the mere _assumption_ that they might have the slightest connection, who knows how many more creatures he might need to face. And not just ones on the job, but just the abundance of unknown creatures that prowl the areas of Ivalice. He doesn't know their power, doesn't know their strengths, their weaknesses or if he'll even be able to face them. And what if Heartless are actually a common thing here in Ivalice; for magic is used far more often around here.

And it _would_ be very useful if he could shift on command. What had happened in there, that was just something along the lines of an enhanced determination and drive to survive. He needed the strength, it doesn't count. Right?

Biting his bottom lip, Roxas closes his eyes, and tries to imagine what it would be like to have his Elven powers under control. Of course he would only use it for emergencies; he pictures himself running along rooftop and hearing everything, smelling everything. No one would stand a chance against him. He easily outmatched that Heartless in strength, and how fast he heals more in his Elven form. It's beneficial all around. Perhaps . . . perhaps everyone is right. Maybe this ability, maybe this power, _can_ be used for good.

Thinking back to when he was under the mind control serum of his mother, thinking back to that black abyss of darkness, of nothingness. He had grazed the Elven warrior within him. He had thought it was his way of compromise, there was something about that moment – that was when he had felt _something_ towards that warrior within. What did change his perspective, his opinion?

That connection, it had to mean something. And that strange riddle his father had told him, it was a date. Not even a year attached to it. A month and a day – a date that has passed weeks and weeks ago.

There's so much he has to learn, so much he has to do. And he will do it bit by bit.

Finally, Roxas turns to Reno; and slowly a smile crawls across his lips. "Alright. I'm in."

And as he watches Reno's face erupt into an unshakable happiness and unbridled joy, Roxas feels a small ember inside him begin to glow.


	7. Chapter 6

Their ride back to Lesalia was more enjoyable, even if they had stopped for the night. But the nights of Ivalice would only bring on more monsters and gaunt faced Heartless; not to mention the vivid nightmares that are bound to haunt Roxas tonight. At least back at the mansion they'll be used to his screaming instead of having some random farmer accuse Reno of rape and murder. Roxas would be too far gone to defend him.

Neither of them spoke as they led their horses into the trees, just far enough off the road to be hidden from any passing travelers. Dumping their gear inside a hollowed out log, Roxas brings his mare to a nearby stream he must have heard with his Elven senses. Reno is amazed as the boy doesn't falter one step in the darkness, though Reno certainly stubbed his toes against a few rocks and roots. The boy must have excellent eyesight, even in the dark – another Elven trait. One he could keep if Roxas would just –

No, he isn't going to think about that. Not after what happened tonight at the castle. Then Roxas mentioned that there was a time, a moment with a portal where he had shifted then – and it had been awful enough to remind Roxas that he had no interest in ever doing it again.

After the horses drank, Roxas told Reno not to wait for him; and the red-head didn't argue and silently took both of the horses back towards their "camp." Roxas uses he privacy to see to his own needs, then dropped to his knees on the grassy band and drank his fill of the stream. Gods, the water tasted . . . new and ancient and powerful and delicious.

Roxas drank until he understood the hole in his belly might very well be from hunger, then glides back to camp, finding it by the gleam of Reno's crimson hair. He wordlessly handed Roxas some bread and cheers, then returned to rubbing down the horses. Roxas gave a thank you, and an offer to help. Afterwards, he plunks down against a towering oak.

When Roxas' belly had stopped hurting so much and he realized just how loudly he had been munching on the apple Reno had also tossed him while feeding the horses, Roxas mustered the energy to say. "Are there so many threats in Ivalice that we can't risk a fire?"

Reno sits against a tree and stretches his legs, crossing his ankles. "Not from mortals."

His first words to the assassin since they had left the castle. Roxas does a mental inventory of all of the weapons he carried. He wouldn't ask. Didn't want to know what manner of thing might crawl towards a fire.

The tangle of wood and moss and stone looms, full of the rustling of leave leaves, the gurgling of the swollen brook, the flapping of feather wings. And there, lurking over the rim of a nearby boulder, were three sets of small, glowing eyes.

The hilt of his dagger is in his palm a heartbeat later. But they just stare at him. Reno notices, and his eyes widen.

They had always known them, the Little Folk. Even with the smell of blood tainting his skin and soul, even with the dagger in his hand, they still recognized Roxas for what he was. He had ignored them, and remembered to stay out of Araguay Woods as much as he could.

The faeries keep their unblinking eyes vigil. Wishing he hadn't downed the food so quickly, Roxas watches them back, ready to start stalking towards them to see their little bodies; to see if when they fly there really will be a trail of glittering dust behind them, like in stories. If their outfits really are made from leaf green and flower petals.

What ancient oaths the faeries honored in Valendia might be disregarded here. Even as he thought it, more eyes glow between the trees. More silent witnesses to his arrival. Because Roxas is Elven, or something like a mongrel. His great-grandmother had been Kuja's sister, proclaimed a goddess when she died. Ridiculous, really. Trance had been very much mortal when she tied her life to the human prince who loved her so fiercely.

He wondered how much these creatures knew about the wars that had destroyed the land, about the Elves and faeries that had been hunted down, about the burning of the ancient forests and the butchering of the sacred stags of Valendia. He wonders if they had ever learned what became of their brethren in the West.

He doesn't know how he found it in himself to care. But they seemed so . . . curious. Surprising even himself, Roxas whispering to the humming night. "They still live."

All those eyes vanish. When he glances at Reno, his eyes have settled. But now he gazes at Roxas with a childlike wonder. Roxas merely shakes his head and sighs, and then wordlessly mounts his mare.

Nothing else approaches Roxas and Reno after their only stop. Reno certainly didn't say anything to Roxas about it, or offer any words of conversation.

By the time the light has turned grey and mist drifts through the trees, Roxas feels more exhausted than he had been the night before. After a silent breakfast of bread, cheese, and apples, he is nearly dozing atop his mare as they take their ride up the forested foothill road.

They pass few people – mostly humans leading wagons down to some market, all of whom glance at Reno and give them the right away with smiles and friendly words of exchange. Reno even manages to start a few short conversations.

Roxas is fighting to keep his eyes open, but manages to regain enough strength as they take the gravel road up to the mansion. Upon entering the gates, the sound of running water reaches his ears as they pass the marble fountain centered in the driveway. Two stable boys come up immediately, greeting them both; one of them chuckling as Roxas snaps his head up in surprise. He must be more tired than he thought.

Dismounting from his horse, barking fuels the air as a few hounds from Reno's kennel start running around the front yard, yipping and chasing after another. There's more barking coming from the balcony upstairs and Roxas looks up and smiles as he sees Artemis with her front paws over the balcony rail, her tail wagging fiercely.

"Roxas!" he hears Sora cheer from inside the house. He comes running out through the front door and straight to Roxas. The assassin opens his arms wide, allowing the boy to embrace him with smiles. Sora pulls back and his excitement falters when he sees the fatigue on Roxas' face. "My goodness, what had happened?"

"A lot more than I'm sure we both expected." Roxas sighs. "But I'm sorry, I'm really tired . . ."

"No, no, here. Let me help you get settled and draw you a bath." Sora says as he takes Roxas' thick satchel bag and takes his friend by the hand.

Vanitas and Zack jog their way out to help Reno and a couple other servants unpack the horses and carry the bags into the mansion. Vanitas follows behind Reno and after setting his satchel on a cushioned chair, he looks to the red-head. "Well, you certainly seem to be in a good mood."

"That's because he had finally agreed to it." Reno smiles broadly.

"Seroiusly?"

"Yes!" Reno says as he pumps his fist into the air. "He finally agreed to it. Granted the case was worse than we had thought, but it was enough to convince him."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you about it later, because now, we need to celebrate and admire that I, am a genius." Reno says with a dramatic bow.

"Hey 'genius'," Vanitas elbows Reno in the ribs, smirking as the red-head rubs the area with a pout. "it was my idea."

"Yeah, but _I_ pulled it off." Reno grins like a fiend.

"With me!"

"Oh please," Reno waves with his hand. "It might've been your idea to give Roxas the jobs, but if it weren't for _me_ picking the right job for him –"

Reno doesn't even get the chance to finish his sentence as a dagger positions against his neck. He immediately halts his words, his eyes widen as they stare down to Vanitas, the blade gleaming in the morning light. It has the slightest pressure against his neck, but Reno doesn't dare move in fear that the blade is so sharp, that minimal pressure is unrequired in order to slice his neck. Vanitas has a devious smirk on his lips, and he quirks an eyebrow at the red-head.

"But of course, you know that if it weren't for your knowledge of jobs that Roxas likes, he wouldn't have even considered taking them in the first place." He quickly babbles.

Vanitas merely chuckles and sheathes his dagger. "Very good."

Reno rubs his neck as Vanitas starts to walk towards the kitchen, Reno in tow. "Do you guys always carry daggers with you?"

"All the time." Vanitas grins.

"So that means that any of you could stab me in the back at any time? Quite literally?" Reno asks, Vanitas chuckling again at the caution he senses in Reno's tone.

"Don't get paranoid, Reno." Vanitas stops abruptly, turning to Reno so quickly that the red-head startles. "You took us in without a second thought, and offered us shelter. We'd never betray you." Vanitas gives an assuring smile, and Reno returns it. But then Vanitas smiles deviously. "Just try not to piss us off."

He only sees Reno's face pale slightly, a baffled expression waning his face as Vanitas gives a charming smile and laughing still as he makes his way out towards the patio area. Reno smiles, following as he watches the assassin plop down into a cushioned wicker chair.

When Reno makes it to the doorway out to the deck, he leans one arm against the doorway and asks, "So, how do you think this'll go?"

"So far, so good. But to be honest, I feel really uncomfortable . . . conspiring behind his back." Vanitas admits as he reaches for a book he we most likely reading before Roxas and Reno arrived home.

"It's not really, dangerous conspiring."

"Anything with Roxas is dangerous, Reno. You should've figured that out the moment we arrived. Or when you first went on that job." Vanitas says opening the book to the last page he was reading.

"But you don't want to stop?"

"No," Vanitas sighs. "because I really do feel that this will be good for him. And one again I'm proven right." He grins sheepishly.

Reno simply chuckles softly. "Well, let's hope that your luck doesn't run out."

"You may call it luck." Vanitas still grins, though his focus is now on the book. "I call it _skill_."

Reno merely leaves Vanitas laughing as he exchanges a vulgar expression of his finger.

Meanwhile upstairs, Sora has finished unpacking Roxas' bag while the assassin was in the bathtub scrubbing himself clean and smothering his skin with bubbles smelling of sweet watermelon and berries. Steam seeps through the ajar door, curling into tendrils and dissipating into nothing. After a joyous Artemis greeted them at the door, Sora had left the two of them alone while he drew Roxas a warm bath. As Roxas stripped down on his way into the bathing chamber, Sora couldn't help but notice that the assassin did seem . . . brighter. So something good must've happened.

Sora looks over and finds Roxas' bare back, suds sliding down his smooth skin to reveal the flock of birds that stretch along his shoulder blades, placed precisely at the top of his spine. Watching his back muscles, Sora feels his cheeks warm and he clears his throat as he shakes his head.

Sora was rather perplexed to find Roxas an entire outfit short. He expected to find the clothes in the bag, remembering Roxas leaving with a tightly fitted white tunic, of which he looked unnervingly attractive in. And when he came home with a new tunic and pants entirely only affirmed Sora's assumption that whatever that job had been, it ended with blood.

While Artemis sniffs at the clothes, sprawling herself on top of Roxas' used pair of pants, Sora thinks back to how Roxas had looked the night he had crawled into Sora's chamber all shaken and pale.

 _I dreamt you were dead_. Roxas had said to him. And despite the incredible disturbance of his words, Sora has already dismissed it time and time again that it was the trauma brought onto the poor assassin from his psycho-maniac mother.

But Sora has yet to tell Roxas of his own dreams; dreams that will surely leave the assassin fearful and no doubt shoving him right back into shutting himself off from his friends. And Sora won't do that to him, not after seeing Roxas just starting to get himself together.

But for a month now, it has been the same dream. Nearing twice a week now, over and over, until Sora can see it in his waking hours.

Ventus groaning as Roxas shoves his dagger up through her ribs and into her heart. He embraces the handsome boy like a lover, but when Roxas gazed over Ventus' shoulder, his eyes were dead. Hollow.

Sora had only seen Ventus once, and not even in full person, just a beautifully lit specter of golden light haloed with white. But he saw him long enough to take in every detail.

The dream shifted, and Sora could say nothing, do nothing as the golden-brown hair darkens to red and the agonized face wasn't Ventus' but Axel's.

The pirate captain jerked, and Roxas held him tighter, twisting the dagger one final time before he let Axel slump to the grey stones of the street. Axel's blood is already pooling – too fast. But Sora still couldn't move, couldn't go to any of his friends.

The wounds on Axel multiplied, and there is blood – so much blood. He knew these wounds. Though he'd never seen the body, he'd combed through the reports detailing what Roxas had done to his previous targets from his days as an assassin, the way he'd butchered each and every one of them.

Roxas lowered his dagger, each drop of blood from its gleaming blade sending ripples through the pool already around him. Roxas tipped his head back, breathing in deep. Breathing in the death before him, taking it into his soul, vengeance and ecstasy mingling at the slaughter of his enemy.

The dream shifts again, and Sora is pinned beneath Roxas as the assassin writhed above him, his head still thrown back, that same expression of ecstasy written across Roxas' blood-splattered face. Enemy. Friend.

Assassin.

"Sora."

The memory of the dream splinters as Sora blinks at Roxas, who is now standing off to the side of the bed, petting Artemis's soft head – and waiting for an answer to whatever he had said. Sora gives an apologetic wince. "Forgive me, I didn't realize you were done."

Roxas returns the boy's half-smile. "Don't worry about it. You seemed distracted. Is everything okay?" Sora continues to organize what's left of the clothes – which is little to none, trying his best not to completely stare at Roxas' muscled and tightly toned torso. The tattoo of the heart encased in flames is still gleaming proudly on his heart, the tips of the flames tickling the dip of the heart. Sora spot Roxas' other tattoos and can't help but smile.

"I'm fine, I'm just curious as to how you turned up one outfit short." Sora amuses.

This time Roxas rubs his neck and gives an obvious, nervous chuckle indicating his guiltiness. "Yeah, about that . . ."

Sora merely sighs and gives a bemused chuckle. "I swear you probably go through more outfits than a nobleman's daughter."

Roxas sticks out his tongue and scoots himself further onto the mattress, Artemis keeping her spot atop his wrinkled pants. Roxas reaches a hand over the dog and plucks a clean blue tunic with its shade the color of the sky. Then he quickly retrieves a pair of pants before scurrying back to the bed. "At least I have good reasons to throw them away instead of just complaining that the color doesn't match my eyes." He gives an exaggerated batting of his eyelashes for emphasis.

"Perhaps I shouldn't joke." Sora sighs. "Sometimes when I find your clothes missing, I both wonder and worry for the reason behind their disposal."

"It's fine." Roxas shrugs. "I was going to tell you about anyway."

Sora supposes it's a miracle that Roxas so easily trusting of Sora. Even now that Sora knew who – what Roxas was, he made a promise not to see him any different. And he will carry out this, simple promise for him if it means seeing Roxas happy again.

Sora still doesn't know what to do about it, or what it meant for them, for the life he'd imagined for them. The future Roxas had dreamed of could be irrevocably gone.

He had seen the deadness in Roxas' eyes that day in the gardens of the glass castle, along with the wrath and exhaustion and sorrow. He'd seen Roxas go over the edge when Demyx died, and knew what he had done to the citizens of his own Guild and town. Sora doesn't even want to imagine what he could do to his mother in retribution. He doesn't doubt for one heartbeat that Roxas can snap again. There is such glittering darkness in him, an endless rift straight through his core.

So many deaths have shattered him. What _he_ had done, his role in those deaths, had completely shattered him. Sora just prays that Roxas can piece himself back together again. Because a broken, unpredictable adolescent is one thing. But an assassin . . .

"You look like you're going to be sick." Roxas says, bracing a hand on the mattress. "Tell me what's wrong."

Sora has been staring at nothing. For a heartbeat, the weight of everything presses so heavily upon him that he opens his mouth.

But a knock on the door draws both their attention, and Vanitas walks into the room with a welcoming smile on his face. Roxas excitedly gets up from his spot on the bed and hurries over to Vanitas, wrapping his arms around his neck. Roxas feels the chuckle of Vanitas reverberate through him, sending a hum through his bones. "Nice to see you enjoyed yourself on your job."

"Don't mistake my happiness for enjoyment." Roxas says as he releases him. "The job certainly wasn't what I had expected, but it certainly kept my interest."

Roxas wanders back over to the bed, and after Artemis happily bounces on the bed until Vanitas pets her, he takes a seat on the other side of the duvet. Artemis snuggles her way into his lap, her tail practically in Roxas' face as it continues to wag.

"So what exactly happened?" Sora asks. He finishes dumping the rest of Roxas' dirtied clothes into a wicker basket, he simply tosses the satchel onto the small desk near the corner of Roxas' room.

"Well, I wasn't expecting much, because Reno only told me that a body was found and no one who had killed him." Roxas explains.

"Who was it?" Vanitas asks.

"It was the nephew of the king. He was training to be the Captain of the Guard."

"That's so sad."

All Roxas can do is shrug. He continues onto his story, explaining what had been done to the body, of which nearly makes Sora pale as death, and then goes on to tell them of what it was they had seen. This new, turns both the identical boys pale and Vanitas' throat bobs. "Another Heartless?" Sora whimpers. "H-How is that possible."

"I don't know. But that's what I plan on finding out." says Roxas. "It's a very rough assumption, but what if the rest of these jobs are connected? Reno did say he has other jobs like this one, maybe there's something connecting them all."

"And if there isn't?" Vanitas chimes. "You only went on one job."

"It's worth the shot. And if there isn't, then I'm back to square one."

"Well, I can already tell you that Heartless aren't really a common thing here in Ivalice. Even if magic is used more often her, most of the casters have their spells under control or are in a controlled area." Sora says.

"Which is why I need to find out what exactly is going on with these jobs. And even if there is no connection, then it's a bit of a relief I suppose." Roxas says.

"Well, if you're going to be taking on more of those creatures, you're going to need some more training." Vanitas invites with a bump of Roxas' arm. "What do you think?"

Roxas sighs, but there's a slight groan. "You know I'd love to, but . . ."

Vanitas chuckles, and holds up his hands. "I get it. I'll let you rest. But try to find me whenever you're free."

"I will. Also, before I forget, I also agreed to do some training with Reno." Roxas adds.

"What? Really!" Sora gasps with a wide smile. And when Roxas nods, Sora yelps with joy as he hops around towards the bed and glomps Roxas with a hug. "That is so wonderful! Oh, you're starting to get yourself together!"

"Thanks, I suppose." Roxas says giggling at the boy's excitement.

"Oh this is wonderful Roxas! What made you change your mind?"

Roxas shrugs. "I just figured that if I'm going to be facing more Heartless and the abundance of creatures here in Ivalice, I'll need to be prepared. My frail, mortal self isn't going to be enough."

"We're proud of you Roxas. This'll be great for you." Vanitas says gripping Roxas' shoulder.

"I don't think you heard me, Vanitas. I'm _training_ , with _Reno_." Roxas emphasizes.

The boys laugh and soon indulge themselves into more conversations, then after a couple more hours of talking, they soon vacate Roxas' bedrooms to let him rest.

Artemis snuggles down with him as Roxas decides to take a book from the shelf in an attempt to make up for the time he's lost for reading. But the moment his head hits the pillow, he falls asleep instantly. There are no disturbances throughout his sleep, and he doesn't dream for once.

It was near morning when they had arrived, and by the time Roxas body deems it time to awaken, it is nearly six o'clock in the evening. He wakes to feel Artemis's head on his chest, the warmth of her furry body lying next to him is comforting. Taking a deep breath, Roxas groans as he stretches his arms. Artemis shifts, burrowing her head further into Roxas' side, and sighing with him.

As he strokes the dog's velvet ear in between his forefinger and thumb, he gazes at the gold ring encasing his fourth finger. He will make time like he always has to visit Axel before the night is over.

Forcing himself out of bed, Roxas simply pokes his feet into sheepskin slippers and makes his way towards Axel's bedroom. As usual now, he finds Axel lying in bed still, though this time he finds Zexion standing over the bed, removing the gauze bandages that wrap around Axel's chest. Upon hearing the doors open, Zexion looks up and greet Roxas with a gentle smile.

"Welcome." He says, resuming his unwrapping.

Roxas approaches the bed, and is about to offer assistance except Zexion is already done. Roxas cringes as the wrappings reveals the dagger wound on Axel's chest where his mother's poisoned dagger had pierced. Around it are smaller scars from where Roxas himself had sucked out the poison from Axel's blood like a leach. The sour taste still permeates Roxas' mouth whenever he thinks about it.

"How is he?" Roxas asks as he takes a seat in the armchair poised next to Axel's bed. It almost never leaves this spot.

"He's doing great, by my assumptions. His wounds are all healed and his heart is healthy; I've done some spells to yield results of a clean bloodstream." Zexion smiles.

"Any changes in his behavior?"

Zexion shrugs. "I wouldn't know, but I will tell you I have seen his fingers starting to twitch. Should be a good sign."

It's not just good! It's _great_! Even the slightest bits of movement is positively exhilarating for Roxas. It means Axel is getting his sense back, he's getting his motor controls. But Roxas quickly diminishes his own excitement when he starts to think of what could happen even if Axel does wake up. Will he have amnesia? He did hit his head a lot. Will he be parlayed? There was enough crash landings on his back.

No, no. He will not think about it that way. Zexion would've said something sooner. Zexion was a good enough healer and doctor that he knew when there was no going back for a patient. Still, Roxas takes Axel's warm hand in his own and kisses his knuckles.

"I honestly can't thank you enough, Zexion." Roxas says, earning him a surprised look from the mage. "Without you, Axel wouldn't be here. None of us would be here."

The mage smiles. "Thank you. I appreciate that. And also I hear you're going to be training soon. Are you excited?"

"I'm not sure." Roxas sighs as he rubs his thumb along Axel's knuckles. "I know this will help, but no one ever said it would be a pleasant experience."

"You've been through worse." Zexion snickers slightly.

"I suppose. I guess we'll just see for ourselves." Roxas looks over to Axel, his face so smooth it looks like porcelain. He's lying so still he can mimic a statue.

About two hours later, Vanitas is swinging his sword, grunting as Roxas easily deflects the blow and parries. Still, Roxas' muscles are sore from weeks of not practicing, and his breathing is ragged in his throat as he thrust and thrust again. Oathkeeper sings and shines in the light of the room.

"This is what comes from such idle behavior." Vanitas chuckles, but Roxas steps to the side so that he stumbles forward. Vanitas remembers a time when they had been of equal skill – though it feels like that had been a long ago. Roxas, while he enjoyed swordplay, had grown to prefer books.

"I've had meetings and important things to read. And I'm _still_ able to kick your ass." Roxas says grinning. Vanitas lunges.

Roxas deflects, feigned, then thrust so hard that Vanitas steps back. "Meetings which use as an excuse to start conjuring with Reno." Vanitas makes a wide sweep of this sword, and Roxas takes up the defensive.

"Or maybe I'm just making time to see my unconscious lover in hopes that he _might_ awaken." Sweat drips from Roxas' brow. "Ever think of _that_?"

Vanitas huffs as Roxas switches to the offensive, and concedes step after step, his thighs aching. "I didn't mean it like that." Vanitas said through his teeth. "Did he say when he's going to give you another job? Or is it all going to be delayed now because of your other training?"

"I don't know. Surprisingly, I'm more interested in what he has in store for my training." Roxas delivers each blow with such precision that Vanitas has to admire him. He feints, but Roxas doesn't fall for it. Instead, he strikes strongly enough that Vanitas staggers back a step, fighting to keep his footing. Vanitas grimaces at the mischief flickering in Roxas' eyes. He brings his sword up to deflect another blow.

Vanitas' eyes gleam, but before Roxas can debate it, he decides to switch the subject with brutal clarity. "I missed training with you." Roxas says, breathing hard. Vanitas smiles. That is why he is here. They've hardly spent any time together since their arrival. And not since Vanitas had forcefully plunked Roxas in the bathtub.

"Likewise." Vanitas grins, and slams his sword into Roxas'. "But I feel it'll exceptionally awful for you once you start training with Reno."

"If he knows what he's doing." Roxas snickers. "I mean, he is Axel's brother."

Vanitas whirls, but Roxas blocks the blow, and then with a swipe of his arm, lowers Vanitas' sword and he spins and kicks Vanitas in the stomach. He skips back, flipping over once onto his stomach. He pushes on his hands and finds Roxas' blade pointed at his nose. "I win."

Vanitas impishly grins. "Alright I admit it," he pushes onto his feet. "you've still got it."

"I'm insulted you doubted me." Roxas chuckles.

Vanitas can't help but just stare at the assassin. His skin has grown darker from his days lounging on the rooftops of the mansion, his hair is just about back to its natural golden color, more freckles dotting his arms and face, and the blue of his eyes are starting to gleam with that familiar passion and determination.

Roxas straightens and sheaths his sword. Not missing a step, Vanitas does the same.

They walk from the sparring room in silence. "Anything from Axel yet? If I may ask . . ."

"Zexion said his finger started to twitch."

Vanitas gives him a questionable look, but a small smile. "I'm assuming that's a good thing?"

"Yes." Roxas sighs. "It means he's getting his motor abilities back. Which mean he will wake up soon."

"And then the sooner you'll leave." Vanitas says. There was something so defeated, so bitter, underlying Vanitas' words that Roxas, for a heartbeat, feels badly. He _should_ say something to him to remind Vanitas that he is not forgotten, and despite his efforts, it's clear he still has something towards Roxas. But to his own shame, Roxas has barely thought of Vanitas this entire time. He only had one goal in mind: to get out of here once Axel was awake. He had told the world to go fuck itself, but his gloominess and careless nature has yielded him to think about the other people who still truly care for him. Vanitas. Sora. His father. Possibly even Reno is working his way into Roxas' potential friends.

Roxas pauses his walking, grabbing Vanitas' arm. He stops too, and there's silence between them as Roxas keeps his gaze to the ground. "I'm sorry." Roxas finally says, but refusing to lift his head. "I wasn't thinking before. I was being selfish. I was caught up in getting Axel out of here, and fleeing the names of assassins and shadows –" Roxas lifts his gaze and sighs. "I would've taken you with me too. I couldn't even _think_ to leave you behind, not after everything you've done for me. Tough love and all."

Vanitas simply smiles, disappointment, exhaustion and a gentleness all coming together in his eyes as he simply reaches out and pulls the now-back-to-blonde assassin into his arms. With his arms wrapping around Roxas' shoulders, Vanitas simply rests his lips against Roxas' hair. Roxas rests his head in the crook of Vanitas' neck; it's like a perfect fit. So much Roxas even closes his eyes as he wraps his arms around Vanitas' muscled torso; it's so toned, so strong.

Roxas doesn't fidget when he feels Vanitas' cheek press to his own. He merely breathes evenly and softly, inhaling his scent despite the layer of sweat. All too soon does Vanitas pull back and place his head on Roxas' head, ruffling his spikes. "Hey." Roxas giggles before he feels Vanitas' lips press against his forehead.

"It's good to see you again, Roxas." Vanitas whispers.

For a moment, Roxas flashes back to Twilight Town, back to when Vanitas was carrying Roxas after he was beyond exhausted from defeating his mother. Back when Maleek sacrificed himself . . . Vanitas was there, he carried Roxas, held him tight like nothing could make him release his grip. And then Roxas buried himself into Vanitas, hoping, praying that maybe he could just burrow down enough and cocoon himself off from the rest of the world.

And again he starts to wonder, what if things don't work out with Axel, or what if he had never met Axel, what would've happened with Vanitas? Would he have changed Roxas the way Axel did? Would Roxas have ever discovered if he was Elven? Would he have ever met his mother? It's not like he can go back, and it's not like he want to. He is with Axel. Everything happens for a reason. Everything has a price.

So Roxas merely smiles back and lets Vanitas' hand rest on his head until Roxas takes the first step away. "I missed you too." Roxas mumbles. They start their walk out of the training room, Roxas fully aware that their hands are linked together, and allowing Vanitas walk him all the way back to his room as the day draws to a close. After giving a soft thank you and a simple kiss goodbye on his forehead, Roxas tosses aside Oathkeeper before tumbling into bed, reeking sweat clothes and all, and lay there for several hours.

He scans the night sky until he locates Bahamut, the Dragon Lord of the South. The unmoving star atop the dragon's head – the eternal crown – points the way to Kerwon. He had been told that the great rulers of Ivalice turned into those bright stars so their people could never be alone – and would always know the way home. He hadn't set foot there in elven years. His father had taken him there once, for a month of training with the Silent Assassins of the Deadlands.

He had whispered the truth that day at Ventus' grave. He will stop the evil that coils within the kingdoms, and he will do it with honor. It feels like he has been running for so long that he doesn't know what it is like to stand and actually fight. Roxas loosens a breath and rubs his eyes.

But what Reno doesn't understand, what _they_ can never understand, was just how much that little boy in Twilight Town had damned them a decade ago, even worse than Cloud himself had. Roxas had damned them all, and then left the world to burn into ash and dust.

Could he really have the power to make things right? But if so, _who_ would he do it as? Himself, or that Elven warrior? And when things are fixed? What then, just disappear?

Hopefully so.

So Roxas turns away from the stars, nestling under the silk thread blanket, closes his eyes, trying to dream of a different world.

A world where he is no one at all.


	8. Chapter 7

The one great thing about the kitchen is that it's placed along the hill of the mansion, giving it a full view of the world beyond, a fully fresh garden of which its scents waft in through the open windows. It was roomy. The great brick oven and hearth are blazing, chasing away the morning mist that slithers in from the trees beyond the bay of windows above the copper sinks. There are only two other people in the kitchen – Luxord and Sora, everyone else seated at the long cherry wood table. Sora is tending to the bubbling pots on the hearth and Luxord at the wooden island that splits the kitchen in half, chopping basil leaves and monitoring what smells like bread. By the gods, Roxas is hungry. That bread smells divine. And what is in those pots?

"Good morning, Roxas." Sora chimes as he hobbles over, wiping his gnarled hands on a crisp white apron. His brown woolen clothes are simple and worn – a bit threadbare in places – but it looks right on him, it seems, normal.

Roxas had simply smiled, accepted Sora's hug before he hurries over to the oven, grabbing a long, flat wooden shovel from the wall to pull a brown loaf out of the woven. Roxas takes a seat over in the booth of the breakfast nook set just under a long window. A swinging door is the only division between the kitchen and the dining room, of which the chatter of the other members can be heard.

He chuckles to himself as he sees Luxord scrape the onions into one of the pots and pull forth a few green onions. "I didn't know you knew how to cook, Luxord?"

"I'm just full of surprises, mate. I made the best meals my mother could think of. I'm the one who made Thanksgiving worth celebrating."

"I'm assuming it took a lot of burned food and smoke evacuations before you could master it?" Roxas chuckles. And in answer, Luxord flicks a blueberry at Roxas' head, of which the blonde catches it in his hand before popping it into his mouth. He breaks the tender skin with his teeth and the sweet juices permeate his tongue.

"Of all the sword practices, unloading and loading of supplies, nothing was more irksome than learning how to make the perfect upside-down cake without having it deflate." Luxord quotes as he stirs another smaller pot brewing with what smells like a creamy oatmeal. "I have to say you seem, different this morning Roxas."

"How so?" Roxas smiles as he accepts the glass of milk Sora brings to him.

"You just seem, brighter. If that makes any sense." Even though a rack of iron pots and pans hanging from the ceiling partially blocks his view of Luxord, Roxas can see the smile of his lips.

He can't argue that it is true. Today is the first day Roxas has woken up early; and dressed for that matter. Apart from his routinely workouts at dawn, he would always stay in bed for half, if not the whole day. His drinking of wine and devouring of teggya always left his head spinning and his body too tipsy for work. Not to mention he would always plop himself into bed, vagrant clothes and all adding onto the stink and the smell of his sheets and dirtied body.

But today, he woke up on his own just a couple hours after dawn, stretched, did a few small workouts, bathed and scrubbed and changed into his pine-green tunic and brown pants.

"You don't seem so inclined to stay in bed half of the day, for one." Sora shoots Luxord a glare, and Luxord amends, "But it's good to see you smiling again."

Behind Sora, two towering cupboards on either side of a spice rack are crammed with well-worn, if not cracked, dishes and cutlery. The top half of the wooden door by the windows is wide open, a wall of trees and mist swirling beyond a small clearing of grass. Past them, the ring of megaliths tower like eternal guardians.

"Is there anything I can do to help? I'd hate to see you two simply feed that crowd alone." Roxas offers.

"Oh, well thank you Roxas." Sora smiles. "Can you finish the onions? Luxord you can mind the bread. I've got to start the casseroles."

Roxas nods as he rises from his seat and takes up the spot that Luxord has already vacated at the end of the island, passing the giant hearth as he did so – a mammoth thing of ancient stone, carved with symbols and odd faces. Even the posts of the brazier has been finished into standing figures, and displayed atop the thin mantel is a set of figurines. Gods and goddesses.

Roxas quickly looks away from the two males in the center – one armed with a gleaming silver sword with a large gem in the crossguard, the other bearing elven ears, crowned with a star and bearing a polished bronze disk upheld between his raised hands. Roxas could have sworn he felt them watching him.

Breakfast was a madhouse.

As the house fills with golden light, chaos descends on the kitchen, people rushing in and out. There are many servants who seem to have the task of serving down to a system. They smoothly weave out of each other ways, ducking under larger serve trays and sidestepping others coming in with dirtied dishes.

Great tubs of eggs and potatoes and vegetables vanish as soon as they are placed on the table, whisked up into the hands of the men. Jugs of water, of milk, of the gods knew what are hauled away. Roxas is introduced to some of the servants, but most don't cast a look in his direction.

His dull knife is a nightmare when it comes to chopping mushrooms, scallions, and an endless avalanche of potatoes. No one, except Sora with his all-seeing eyes, seemed to notice his perfect slices. Someone merely scoops them up and tosses them in a pot, then tells Roxas to cut something else. He didn't mind though; in fact, the work was enjoyable. In fact, it is a lovely change from the usual stares and terror and whispers that had marked the past ten years of his life. Here, he is almost as normal as the family next door; helping loved ones in the kitchen, chopping up food and exchanging fun if meager conversations. Even with the insanity of the past hour, Roxas had managed to chat up almost every person who came into the kitchen, his voice and laughter floating over the clanging pots and barked orders.

Then – nothing. Everyone but his two companions vanish throughout the mansion, and sleepy laughter, grumbling, and clinking of silverware echo down the stairwell. Famished, Roxas looks longingly at the food left on the island just as he catches Sora staring at him.

"Go ahead." He says with a grin before moving to help Luxord haul a massive iron cauldron over towards the sink. "I'll be at those dishes for a while and might as well enjoy our time now."

Indeed, there was a _tower_ of dishes and pots already by the sinks. The cauldron alone will take forever. So Roxas plunks down at the breakfast nook, serves himself some eggs and potatoes, pours a cup of tea, and digs in.

Devours is a better word for what he did. Holy gods it is delicious. Within moments, he consumes two pieces of toast laden with eggs, then starts on the fried potatoes. Which was as absurdly good as the eggs. He ditches the tea in favor of downing a glass of the richest milk he had ever tasted. Not that he veer really drank milk, since he had his pick of exotic juices in Twilight Town, but . . . He looks up from his plate to find Sora and Luxord gaping from the hearth. "Gods above," Luxord chuckles, moving to sit at the nook. "When was the last time you ate?"

Good food like this? A while. And if Reno is going to be coming to collect him at some point, Roxas doesn't want to be swaying from hunger. He needs his strength for training. Magic training. Which is sure to be horrific, but he will do it – to fulfill his bargain with Reno and honor his vow to Ventus. Suddenly not very hungry, he sets down his fork. "Sorry." Roxas says.

"Oh, eat all you like." Luxord says. "There's nothing more satisfying to a cook than seeing someone enjoy his food." He says it with enough humor and kindness that it chafes.

How can they still be so . . . open with Roxas when they know of the things he'd done? How can they still want to be there for him when they know of the blood he has spilled, how he had tortured the King and taken apart his mother's army of Faceless assassins piece by piece, the way he had gutted Ventus in his father's study, and Demyx in the gardens? The way he had failed his friends. Failed a lot of people.

Luxord and Sora are noticeably quieter as they sit down. They don't ask Roxas many questions. Which is fine, because Roxas is obviously a much better listener and observer than a conversationalist. He won't be here much longer, anyway. Sora and Luxrod keep to themselves, chatting about the training Sora is to do with Vanitas on the battlements that day, the neat pies Luxord will make for lunch, the oncoming spring rains that might ruin the herb garden like last year as well as the Beltane festival. Such ordinary things to talk about, worry about. And they are so easy with each other – a family in their own way.

Uncorrupted by a wicked parents, by years of brutality and slavery and bloodshed. Roxas can almost see the three souls in the kitchen lined up beside each other: theirs bright and clear, his a flickering black flame.

 _Do not let that light go out_. Ventus' last words to Roxas that night in the tunnels. Roxas pushes around the food on his plate. He has never known anyone whose life hadn't been so overshadowed by Twilight Town. He can barely remember his brief years before his life was enslaved by blades and shadows, when his spirit had still bene free.

He cannot remember what is was like to be free.

A pit yawns open beneath his feet, so deep that he ash to move lest it swallow him whole.

But the sounds of conversation are already growing muffled as he spirals down, contemplating that horrible realization again and again: he cannot remember what is was like to be free.

Shaking his head vigorously, Roxas bolts up from his seat to dump his dishes into the sink, wordlessly taking on the dishes, and soon the sounds of the kitchen breach enough for him to register the soft singing of Sora from the island, the thud of dough as he kneads it, and the chopping of Luxord's knife and his ceaseless chatter about everything and everything.

Then the door to the kitchen swings open and all heads turn, and Roxas finds Reno leaning against the archway of the door, still open wide, hands in his pockets and a smile on his lips. Excitement beckoning in his sparkling eyes. "Let's go."

Though his feature remains controlled, Roxas has the distinct impression that Reno is somewhat exhilarated to be dragging Roxas off somewhere private without any eyes or ears around. As he leaves, Sora draws a finger across his neck and mouths _good luck_.

His hands are pruny, fingers aching, back and neck throbbing, but . . . Roxas still smiles and tries to conceal his snorty laugh as he follows Reno out of kitchen.

Reno leads him through the small courtyard, and down through the streets where the sentries tried to pretend they weren't watching their every move, and out into the forest. The cold laced wind nips at Roxas' skin as they pass, and nausea washes trough him. With the heat of the sun and the wind on his arms, Roxas declares spring to be his most favorite season as he is feeling so rejuvenated by the time they stride between the moss-coated trees.

As they keep walking, Roxas tries to imagine the wind and the heat extracting all of the blackness and emptiness from him, leeching it all out into a glob of blackness in front of him, and leaving Roxas clean and pure as he wishes to be.

Reno treks up a rocky ridge towards the highest reaches of the forest, still clouded in mist. Roxas barely pauses to take in the view of the foothills below, the plains before them, all green and fresh and safe from Kingdom Hearts. Reno doesn't utter a single word until they reach what looks like the weather-stained ruins of an ancient temple.

It is now more than a flat bed of stone blocks and columns whose carvings have been dulled by wind and rain. To his left lies Lesalia, foothills and plans and peace. To his right, arises the wall of the Lenalia Plateau, blocking any sight of the immortal lands beyond. Behind him, far down, he can make out the kingdom snaking alone the spine of the mountains.

Reno crosses the cracked stones, his crimson hair battered by the crisp, damp wind. Roxas keeps his arms loose at his sides, more out of reflex than anything. He is armed to the teeth, his face a mask of unyielding brutality. Roxas gives a little smile, his best attempt to a dutiful, eager expression. "So what now? I'm assuming you didn't bring up here just to enjoy the view."

Reno looks Roxas over from head to toe: the mist-damp shirt, now warm against his puckered skin, the equally stained and damp pants, the position of his feet . . .

"Well, I've been pouring over the books Axle had brought over from Kingdom Hearts," the beginning of his sentence has already pinched at Roxas' insides, but he swallows and breathes. Reno meanwhile crosses one leg over the other sets his folded hands on one knee, "And I've come up with a few way we can go about this."

"Which would be . . .?"

"One," Reno starts by holding up a finger for emphasis, "We can bring it out with emotions. It seemed like it was a big thing according to some of your men."

"And you're already off to an awful start." Roxas snaps.

"You said you were willing."

"I am, but are _you_ prepared? Your playing with danger right now, as I'm sure my men informed you as well?"

"They did, and look, as twisted as this sounds, I encourage it. Anger can be powerful, you just need to learn how to hone it. "

"I don't think you want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath." Roxas says.

"I never said that." Reno says as he looks to the assassin with surprise.

"I know." Roxas can't let it out – no, because Reno doesn't truly understand a thing about what lurks under Roxas' skin and runs claws down his insides.

"Well, let's just start with the basics." Reno says as he leans back to prop on his hands. "Shift."

Roxas looks to him with a small smirk and a quirk of an eyebrow. "Reno, it's not something I can control."

"If I wanted excuses, I'd ask for them. _Shift_." He commands with a snap of his fingers.

"I don't know how! I had never mastered it as a child, and there certainly hasn't bene any opportunities to lean in the past decade." Roxas snarls.

"Oh, so we're really starting out at the bottom." Reno says. "Game on!" he says with a smile and a clap of his fingers. "You're _really_ going to make me enjoy training you. Also, let my just apologize in advance for becoming a dickbag."

Roxas' smile turns quitter, more lethal. "I've already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga, why don't we cut that horseshit?"

"Just at least _attempt_ to shift."

A shuddering rush goes through Roxas – a spear of lightning in the abyss. " _No_."

Reno had been contemplating Roxas' blows all morning, the way he moves, the swiftness and angles. So he attacks.

Roxas dodges the first blow, sidestepping Reno's fist, strands of his hair snapping in the wind. He then twists far enough in the other direction to avoid Reno's second strike. And then Roxas counters, striking so damn fast that Reno barely registers the movements – so fast that Reno has no chance of dodging or blocking or anticipating his blow. Not to Reno's face, but to his legs.

One sweep of his foot and Reno is falling, twisting to catch himself, but not fast enough to avoid thudding his brow against a weather-smoothed rock. He rolls, the grey sky looming, and tries to remember how to breathe as the impact echoes through his skull. Roxas pounces with fluid ease, his powerful thighs digging into Reno's ribs as he straddles him. Breathless, head reeling, and muscles easily drained, he can't twist and toss him. Reno is outweighed, outmuscled, and utterly outmatched.

" _Shift_." He still manages to hiss.

Roxas tilts his head back and laughs at him, a dead, wretched sound even to his own ears. "Nice try." Gods, Reno's head throbs, a warm trickle of blood is leaking from the right side of his brow, and now Roxas is _sitting_ on his chest. "You think you can trick me into shifting by pissing me off?"

Reno can see Roxas' face speckle with stars, floating into his vision. Every blink shoots daggers of pain through him. It will probably be the worst black eye of his life. Roxas is stronger than Reno let on, more powerful than he had imagined even in his mortal form. Gods, to think his _Elven_ form . . . But the most disturbing thing is how Roxas doesn't seem to care about Reno's injuries. Perhaps he is unaware of how badly hurt Reno is, or maybe Reno is doing just that good a job of hiding it?

Roxas is also just as stubborn as Axel had mentioned in past letters. Back in the summer of last year, assumingly when the boy had first tumbled onto his brother's ship, Reno and Axel kept in better touch, sending letters to one another on a weekly basis. Slowly Reno watched the letters that spoke of Roxas drift from hatred, to tolerance, to love and adoration.

He doesn't have a choice but to –

Roxas brings his face so close to Reno's that one tilt of his head would have him kissing the assassin's full and soft lips. "Here's an idea." Roxas says. "You don't know what I'm capable of or what I have been doing for the past ten years –"

"Other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin." Reno says over the pounding in his head. Roxas stops, eyebrows narrows in deadly anger. "And I also think you're used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline – not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a _child_ , and a spoiled one at that. And," Reno stares directly into Roxas' eyes, willing them to hold nothing but distaste. "you are a coward."

Roxas would have clawed Reno's face off right then. But something inside Roxas snaps. Snaps so loud he is surprised Reno doesn't hear it.

But Reno sees it.

Roxas' face changes instantly. It grows alarmingly pale, his features soften and his sapphire eyes grow vacant, as if someone had snuffed out of their life and color.

 _Oh no_.

Roxas leans back, his weight lifting from Reno's shoulders. He leans back staring in horror as if Reno had just stabbed his heart, his mouth slightly agape.

 _Keep pushing_!

Reno gives a low, nasty laugh. "Don't like that word?" Reno lifts his head and tries to ignore the tilting word. " _Coward_. You're a coward who has run for ten years while you carelessly butchered and burned innocent people –"

Roxas stops hearing him.

He just – stops.

It is lie being underwater again. Like waking from the trance of the serum and finding Demyx's beautiful body mutilated on the grass. Like seeing King Sephiroth Gainsborough, beloved and brave, riding off into the sunset to the cheers of his people.

Roxas simply lets Reno shove him off into the grass, now pinning _him_ to the ground.

But he just lies there, watching the churning clouds above. Waiting for Reno to finish the words he can't hear, waiting for the revengeful blow Roxas is fairly certain he will not feel.

"Get up." Reno says suddenly, and world is bright and wide as he stands. " _Get up_."

 _Get up_. Maleek had said that to him once, when pain and fear and grief had shoved him over an edge. But the edge Roxas had gone over the night Demyx had died, the night he had gutted over five hundred innocent citizens, the night Roxas had found out the horrible truth . . . Tifa had helped shove Roxas over that edge. He is still on the fall down. There is no getting up, because there is no bottom.

Rough hands under his shoulders, the world tilting and spinning, then that smooth face with emerald eyes is staring at him. Let him take his head in between those hands and snap his neck.

"Pathetic," Reno spits, releasing him. "Spineless and pathetic."

For Ventus, he has to try, has to _try_ –

But when Roxas reaches in, towards the place in his chest where that monster dwells, he finds only cobwebs and ashes.

Reno's head is still reeling, and dried blood now itches down the side of his face. He doesn't bother to wipe it off, or to really care about the black eye that he is positive had blossomed during the miles they had hiked from the temple ruins and into the forested foothills back to Lesalisa.

He kept extra track of Roxas who has purposely fallen behind a few steps. He constantly looks over his shoulder at the assassin who keeps his gaze hauntingly vacant and staring at the ground. His eyes still have a stone cold looks to it, lifeless and hollow. _Gods_ , what has he done.

Their trek back was disturbingly silent, and Reno doesn't bother to say anything. Oh goodness, Vanitas and Sora will have his head for this. Reno had caught Roxas in the kitchen this morning and he seemed so happy even as Luxord and Sora didn't involve him much in the conversation. He seemed to be getting better, seemed in a good enough mood that Reno thought his vicious language would only healthily challenge Roxas. He's not mended just yet.

He's still broken.

When they make it back to the kingdom, Roxas increases his speed, and Reno purposely slows down. As the assassin trudges ahead of him, he watches the blonde of his hair swish and sway in the breeze. His cap billows behind him in waves of crimson as he hurries up the gravel driveway of the mansion. Reno feels his stomach sink as he spots Vanitas and Xigbar walking out from the backyard with the dog Artemis in tow, her tail wagging and smiling as she trots her way around with a large stick in her mouth.

Vanitas' eyes spot Roxas instantly, and Reno feels goose bumps on his skin as he sees Vanitas' face turn to stern worry as Roxas wordlessly walks past him, not even sparring Artemis a pat on the head hello. Still the dog follows, and while Xigbar keeps staring after Roxas, Vanitas' head turns to Reno and his face immediately contorts into controlled rage what scares Reno even more than if Vanitas were to start yelling at him right there.

Reno feels his knees buckle as Xigbar walks inside after bidding Vanitas a fearful farewell as the ember-eyed assassin folds his arms and waits for Reno to approach. Reno swallows thickly and exhales heavily. When he reaches Vanitas, Reno feels his hands grow numb. Vanitas nearly growls when he asks, "What the _hell_ did you do?"

As Roxas continues to trudge through the mansion, he doesn't bother to say hello to Sora even as he sees the boy come walking down the hall with a laundry basket against his waist. Roxas can see Sora's look of concern and feared worry etch onto his delicate face as Roxas passes without a word.

But Roxas doesn't care. He is drained for the day.

He makes his way to the steamy bathing room, not caring who is in there as he shucks off his clothes, collapses into the sunken marble tubs, and does not stir for a long, long time.

"You did _what_?!" Sora yells as he smacks Reno in the head with a rolled up newspaper.

"Ow!" Reno yelps as he rubs his head, leaning forward over the desk in his study. But not too forward as Vanitas is standing in front of the desk with his arms folded and a scowl on his lips.

After Vanitas had confronted Reno in the driveway, Sora had come running out with anger underlined with worry on his face as well as eyes gleaming. Reno simply asked the boys to meet him in his study, of which they didn't ask any questions on the way. But it was the longest walk of Reno's life even when he knew this entire house top to bottom. He could feel the stress of the boys burning into the back of his skull as he opened the door to the study.

Reno continues to rub his head as Sora rounds to the front of desk. "Look, I'm sorry okay? I didn't think my words would affect him like that."

"Then what exactly _were_ you thinking?" Vanitas snarls. His voice is deep and raspy.

"I thought the words would challenge him. He seems like that kind of person, that if you challenge him he fights back." Reno defends.

"That was the _old_ , Roxas." Vanitas sighs. "I see where you're coming from, I do really; but you're a little late on that."

"Then why do both you seem so upset?"

"We're upset, because now we have to go back in there and talk to him into training again." Sora chirps. "He probably doesn't even want to anymore, thanks to you! I can't believe how different he is within the span of a few hours. You should have seen him this morning, he was wonderful!" He bops Reno once again on the head with the newspaper.

"Look, I admit I went a little far. And I apologize and take responsibility for that. But I won't deny, and neither can you, that my words are true."

"What?!" Sora gapes.

"If Roxas truly was motivated, for anything, he wouldn't be sulking around. He would get up and do something."

"How dare you." Vanitas growls as he sets forward. Reno has the smarts to lean back as Vanitas places a hand on the desk. "If Axel was awake, he would bite your head off for such words! He has no hope, Reno when are you going to see that?!"

Suddenly Vanitas takes a sharp intake of breath and holds his head. Light flashes behind his closed eyes, and holds his head, grunting. There's a bolt, like lightning and then Vanitas can see Maleek and Axel, in Axel's bedroom back in the castle of Traverse Town. The images are still, like looking at a photo. Maleek has his arm stretched out, pointing behind him and his mouth is open as if he is yelling. And then there's Axel, his shoulders high in question and his mouth open in yelling too. In front of them are stacks of books and one being open. It was a tome he recognized; the tome they had showed Roxas of his heritage and bloodline. " _There is nothing left if him; I can see it in his eyes. He had no hope, Axel, why can't you see that! He has no hope. He has none left in his heart_." Maleek's voice echoes.

Vanitas grunts as he leans against the desk. _A flashback_? _How_? The throbbing in his head slowly eases and Vanitas continues to rub it until he can open his eyes without worry a spinning room. "Vanitas?" Sora asks.

"I'm fine." Vanitas shakes his head. "I've just got a headache . . . from your idiocy."

Reno sighs and rolls his eyes. He rests his elbow on his desk as he runs his fingers through his own hair. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, Roxas clearly kicked the shit out of me –"

"Only because you were stupid enough the try and attack him." Sora interjects.

"– and I seriously feel bad about what I had said. I didn't want to, but it was only part one of my plan."

"I doubt he'll want to even see you after today. And once again we have to wait until he's ready." Sora says.

"Or until we talk to him, _properly_." Vanitas says, his arms folded once again.

"Well now that I know Plan A doesn't work, it's time to move on to Plan B." Reno says as he leans back into the chair.

"Why do I feel slightly nauseated?" Vanitas groans.

"Look, I know you guys care a lot for Roxas, and will spring at me the moment I do something wrong. But all I ask is that you continue to trust me. I'm just starting to get a feel for his personality."

"We've already told you what he's like." says Sora.

"That's just from your experience. I need to . . . examine him – and I'm sorry for saying it like that – but I need to see how he is for myself so that I know what to do." Reno explains.

"I don't even get that." Vanitas says.

"Then all I ask is that you please still trust me on this. There is no one else who can help him now." Reno says.

Vanitas and Sora share a look of questioning, and after their silent conversation, Vanitas sighs and lowers his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright." Sora answers. "We'll give you another chance. But please try not to screw this up this time."

"I promise." Reno says as he lifts his hand to claim an oath.

"I'll see if Roxas is in the mood to talk."

"I doubt it," Vanitas says. "He was in the bathing chamber for two hours. No one had seen him leave, yet."

"There are few places in the mansion he can go." says Sora. "I'll check the bathing chamber and work my way around."

"Good luck to you." Vanitas says. He turns to Reno and points his finger. "And don't screw this up."

The two boys leave the study and leave Reno, sweating and sighing as he plonks his head down onto the desk.

Meanwhile, as the day dwells on into the late evening, Roxas is now seated on the cushioned armchair next to Axel's bed, watching the redhead sleep peacefully as always while a small fire is slowly dying in the fireplace. He wears a soft robe lined with rabbit fur and snuggles it tightly around his neck and buries his nose into the material. It smells clean and fresh.

As his eyes scan over the bruises starting to fade away off his skin, Roxas thinks back to his terrible and painful shifting back when the serum of his mother was infecting even muscle and every vein in his body.

Every inch of his body, from his ears to his toes to his teeth, gave a collective burst of pain. It felt as if he had been pummeled by a thousand iron fists and left to rot in the cold. That was from the uncontrolled shifting. The gods knew how many times he had shuddered between one form and the other. From the tenderness of his muscles, it had to have been dozens.

But he hadn't lost control of his magic, he reminds himself as he grips the arms of the chair. He watches Axel's chest rises and falls evenly with deep breaths. His hands are now folded over his sternum his head slightly tilted to the side. Zexion has done a wonderful job in keeping Axel hydrated and fed as best he can.

Roxas reaches out his hand and traces their tips along Axel's knuckles. His fingers are ling, elegant, and his hands are large. Hands that have stroked alone his skin, gripped his wrists, held him close. Hands he trusts. Oh, how he longs to feel Axel's hands on him again. His body craving for Axel's touch; to have that spark that ripples through his body every time to strike through him and ignite that light that Roxas can feel beginning to dull with every doubt, every word and every thought.

He feels the warmth on his cheeks before he realizes a couple tears have escaped his eyes. "Please." Roxas begs to the body in a whisper. "Please, please come back to me. I need you." Roxas brings Axel's hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it, memorizing the feeling of the smooth skin against his lips.

But alas, Axel's eyes remain closed. Not even a small flutter of eyes, nor an itch of a finger. Roxas sighs, but kisses Axel's hand again, then leaning over the bed to kiss the red-head's forehead. Roxas keeps himself hunched over the man, lips to his skin before mumbling, "I love you," into his hair. He then settles back into the chair.

The door to the bedroom opens, but Roxas doesn't turn to see who it is. But instead waits until the person approaches his chair and sets a hand on the back of the chair. Slowly Roxas turns his head towards his right and feels slight relief when he finds sky-blue eyes and soft chestnut brown spiked hair. In his hand is a simple book with a faded red cover and the pointed tongue of a red ribbon poking out where he had last left off.

Sora feels his chest ache when he sees Roxas' eyes. Such dead, joyless eyes. He looks so much like that these days. The same way he had looked that night in the streets of Twilight Town. He spares Roxas a smile and then says, "You have a letter from your father."

Roxas' eyes widen, and his mouth opens to say something, but all that sounds is a slight gasp. Sora simply opens the book where the ribbon is and pulls out a pale ecru envelope sealed with a red stamp.

"It arrived today." Sora simply hands the letter to Roxas and then quietly walks his way over to Axel's desk in the corner, sits down, and opens up his book and starts to read.

Roxas looks at the letter in his hand and brings the envelope up to his nose and inhales. _Oh_ _gods_ , it smelled like his father. He can just picture him in a grand chamber in King Mickey's palace, extravagant and fancy and exquisite, seated at a mahogany table and writing with an expensive feather pen and ink well.

Roxas pulls out his dagger and carefully slices open the envelope and pulls out the letter inside. The parchment was exquisite smooth with a delicate gold border and the emblem of King Mickey down in the lower right-hand corner.

Roxas sighs as he sees his father's familiar handwriting:

 _My Dear Roxas,_

 _I apologize for not replying to you for a while, it seems like it's only been yesterday since I watched you depart from the continent. I can't believe it's nearly been a month alone now. But I bring to you news of both good and bad. First, is that I have been promoted to a member of the King's council, earning the right to decline and approve any proposals that come to the king. It is the greatest honor that his Majesty has the power to bestow._

 _Unfortunately, our time has been consumed with cleaning up the city and rebuilding the Market Street of Twilight Town. But we are not alone; many citizens have offered to help us and donated more than their time. They were not pleased at first when I and the Guild Masters were presented in front of the city, but through our means of persuasion, we had managed to at least earn their respect._

 _Sadly, our delay of reconstruction has not stopped your mother from rebuilding herself. There are brutal and monstrous forces gathering on the horizon, intent on enslaving our world. I have received reports from Ivalice of a creature found in the castle of Zeltennia. Somehow, I just knew this had to be related to you_.

Roxas chuckles and snuggles down further into the chair.

 _The reports claim that the creature of similar, if not exact features of a Heartless like you had encountered at the glass castle. While I mean to not scare you, this was just the beginning. There have been multiple sightings here at Kingdom Hearts, mostly surrounding around the outskirts of Twilight Town and Traverse Town. My headaches are getting worse and I hear the flapping of wings in my dreams. But I assure you I'm handling well._

 _So far we are lucky to have no casualties, the creatures only attacking livestock. But I fear for what's to happen if they attack an innocent. However, I've also been given word that things aren't going too well on your end. I wish I could be there for you, my son. I miss you every day and wish that we weren't apart just as we had bonded together._

 _But if I'm going to leave you with any words of encouragement, it is this: To defeat these forces of evil, Roxas, you must find the strength not only to fight your inner demons but to battle the evil that is about to be unleashed._

 _You have a heart of fire. A will of steel. And it's time the world meets Roxas Skyes._

 _You will take on an even greater destiny and burn brighter than ever before._ _I believe in you my son._

 _Love, Cloud_

Rubbing his thumb along the words, _Love Cloud_ , Roxas smiles slightly and glances over at Sora. The boy is still turned away from Roxas, and leaning his cheek on his hand as he continues to read his book.

Flicking his eyes back to the letter, Roxas sighs through his nose and brings the letter close to his heart. _I believe in you my son. You have a heart of fire. A will of steel._

He will lock these words away in his heart; keep them there when things get bleak. Gosh, nearly a month has passed and he is nowhere near the progress his father thinks he is. Of course Roxas has been too busy dwelling himself in wine and flatbread, meanwhile his father is getting promoted, rebuilding Twilight Town and battling out with his mother. Meanwhile Roxas is here, sulking and brooding. Useless and pathetic.

 _Pathetic. Spineless and pathetic_. As Reno had said.

Well not anymore.

 _It's time the world meets Roxas Skyes_. Yes, it is time.

"My name is Roxas Skyes . . ." he whispers to the floor, but his lips shake hard enough to cut off the words. "My name is Roxas Skyes . . ." he tries again. He takes deep breaths.

He will not crumble.

He will not break.

Roxas pulls the pale robe tighter around him as he shuffles for the dresser and basin. After his bath, he realizes he has nothing to change into and has stolen one of the many robes, leaving his reeking clothes heaped by the door. He barely made it to the bed before he collapses onto the mattress, pulls the silk blanket over him, and sleeps.


	9. Chapter 8

Today is the day that his suit is ready; and Roxas is up early enough to greet the tinkerer at the door and thank him for his troubles.

He takes the large box back up to his room and unties the shiny red ribbing binding the lid together. Slipping into the suit, it fits like a glove. The hidden daggers are a dream and Roxas climbed all of the walls of his room, flipped and jabbed and punched to ensure a good fit, and he can feel the slight pressure of the Angel's Hair that the tinkerer had incorporated. Strapping his weapons to his waist and concealing them into the hidden pockets and crevices. And once he is armed to the teeth, he straps a cape of obsidian around his shoulders and makes his way towards Reno's room.

Opening the door, Roxas slithers inside, making the most of the suit and smiles when he makes it up to Reno's bed without detection. Then again, Reno is snoring so loudly it would take a herd of cattle to wake him up.

Just to push the limits, Roxas carefully stalks his way onto the mattress and positions himself over Reno, straddling him like he did yesterday. Roxas folds his lips in to conceal his smile as Reno groans in excitement and turns onto his back, Roxas carefully lift himself, allowing Reno to turn, carefully drawing his dagger.

He spins in between his fingers and sets the cool blade against Reno's neck. Then Roxas carefully leans in and brings his lips close to Reno's ear; making sure his breath moves the hairs closest to the ear to make it tickle. "Reno," Roxas speaks low and slow. "Wake up."

Reno moans again and shifts slightly, Roxas removing the blade and spinning, raising it above his head as the redhead's eyes flutter open.

And when they behold Roxas, they widen and fear floods the pupil.

Reno squeals and squirms and Roxas casually lifts to his feet, letting Reno tip himself over and flop onto the cold wooden floor. Roxas chuckles as Reno scrambles through the entanglement of his sheets while Roxas crouches while still on the fluffy mattress.

When Reno finally manages to pop his head up out of the sheet, Roxas merely gives a feline smile and twirls his dagger back into his belt. "Good, you're awake." Roxas rises and hops down from the bed. "Get dressed. We're going training today."

Without another word, Roxas walks past Reno, his cape whispering against the floor and turns out of the bedroom.

Reno, still breathless and heart ready to rocket out of his chest, he tries to calm his shaking arms and hands and tries to take in what it is he saw. Roxas was in the suit that Reno had made for him, he was smiling – and it wasn't lethal or psychotic. It was . . . normal. Again.

Roxas was determined now to get to training and had even enough cruel humor to scare Reno awake. It's just like when he saw him in the kitchen. What did Sora say to him; because Sora was the last one to go to Roxas after Reno's completely devastating attempt to get Roxas to shift. What could've happened?

Without wanting him to come back, Reno laughs to himself as he pushes to his feet and hurries over to his dresser where he pulls on the first clothes on top of the drawers and grabs his hiking boots. He hobbles down the steps and stops by the front door to grab his jacket. As he shrugs it onto his shoulders, Vanitas comes walking in shirtless with a plate of toast.

Reno has to do a double take as he beholds Vanitas' body: purely muscled. Lean and fit with strength and power. A tattoo of an edgy-designed heart is on his left bicep and black earrings hugging his lobes and left cartilage. He munches on the buttered toast and when he sees Reno, lifts an eyebrow in question.

"Roxas and I are going training." Reno says.

"I figured." Vanitas says with half a mouthful of toast. He finishes chewing and swallows. "He stopped in the kitchen to pack some snacks. I guess you'll be gone for a while."

"Great." Reno mumbles.

It comes out a little bit more aggravated than he intended, but before he can apologize, Vanitas says, "I'm surprised he has you up this early; what did he do?"

Reno chuckles as he adjusts the collar of his brown leather jacket. "All I'm going to say is: waking up with a dagger pointed at your neck is exactly as terrifying as you think it is."

Vanitas laughs as he pats Reno's shoulder. "By the way, I saw the new suit you had for him. It looks nice."

"Thank, I ordered it myself." Reno smirks.

"That must've cost at least a small fortune. Was that part of your plan to bribe him?"

Reno pauses and looks to Vanitas, who merely gives that same feline grin. "It . . . was a part of that reason. He has to have some means of using it, doesn't he?"

Roxas comes out with a picnic basket and quickly holds it out to Reno, of which he takes as Roxas hurries past them. "I just need to say by to Sora and tell him where I'll be."

"You could just send Vanitas to do it and we can leave earlier." Reno calls as they watch Roxas start up the steps; his ebony cloak brushing over the steps like the train of a wedding dress. Vanitas meanwhile gives him an irked look with half a cheek filled with toast bites once more.

"Just shut your smart mouth and wait outside!" Roxas hollers from the top of the stairs.

Vanitas clapping his hand on Reno's shoulder prevents the red-head from calling back. He escorts Reno out while Roxas hurries his way towards Sora's room. He stops in front of the wooden doors and knocks twice before coming in. "Sora?" he calls.

"I'm in here, Roxas." He hears Sora reply from the balcony. Sauntering his way towards the double glass doors, Roxas smiles as he finds the spiky-haired brunette sitting with a book in lap and a small cup of tea on the end table. "Hey." Sora smiles.

"Hey." Roxas says as he returns the smile. "I came to say bye."

"Bye, where are you going?" Sora asks as he sets aside the book to rise from his seat.

Roxas allows the boy to stand. "I'm just going to be training with Reno all day. Just wanted to say goodbye." He explains as he kisses the side of Sora's head.

"Oh, okay. You've got snacks and everything?"

"Yeah, I practically cleaned out the cupboards with the food you cooked yesterday." Roxas says with a jab of his thumb over his shoulder.

Sora chuckles as he hugs the blonde goodbye and Roxas hurries out of the bedroom, Sora following out to watch him leave with Reno. Roxas gives Vanitas a quick kiss goodbye as well as he closes they leave, Vanitas remaining in the open door to watch them leave.

Reno gentlemanly carries the picnic basket as they make their way out of the kingdom and towards the woods once more. Instead of the hill with the temple on top, they stop at the edge of a grassy plateau, speckled with small hills. No hills – barrows, the ancient tombs of lords and princes long dead, rolling to the other edge of the trees. There are dozens, each marked with a stone threshold and sealed iron doors. The on the back of Roxas' neck rises.

The grassy mounds seemed to . . . breathe. To sleep. Iron doors – to keep the wights inside, locked with the treasure they'd stolen.

Wights are undead or wraith-like creatures: corpses with a part of their decayed soul still in residence, often draining life from their victims. They infiltrate the barrows and lurk there for eons, feeding on whatever unwitting fools dare seek the gold within. They have pallid skin, black hands, and fierce ice-blue eyes, and are described as being virtually impervious to all forms of attack, even forcibly amputated limbs are described as having sentience.

Steady breathing and the yawns of awakening things arise beyond those iron doors. They are unadorned, bolted into the stone lintels with spikes and nails that are so old they probably predate Ivalice itself. Even the birds and insects do not utter a too-loud sound here. The hills part to reveal an inner circle of dead grass around the most crumbling barrow of all. Where the other are rounded, this on looks as if some ancient god has stepped on it. Its flattened top has been overrun with gnarled roots of bushes; the three massive stones of the threshold are beaten, stained and askew. The iron door is gone.

Once Reno settles the picnic basket and blanket under the shade of two weeping willows, Roxas wanders out to the plateau and breathes. He hears Reno come up behind him.

"Okay," Roxas sighs. "So what do I do now?"

"Well, try to shift."

"How? And into what?"

"Well," Reno says, rubbing the back of his neck. "that depends on the transformation. Do you remember transforming into anything else? Like a horse, or a dog?"

"Not that I remember." Roxas says. "And from the past events, it was just from my human to Elf form."

All Elves possess a secondary animal form. Roxas, was currently in his, his mortal human body as animal as the birds wheeling above. But is that all he has? Could he have been a wolf, perhaps if he wore a layered surcoat that flows to midthigh like a pelt, his footfalls as always silent. Or a mountain cat, with his predatory grace.

"Maybe if I saw how it works, I don't know, maybe it could work." Roxas says.  
"Gosh, but I'm still a little nervous."

His memories of the Elves in Twilight Town are foggy, as if someone had smeared oil over them. He can't remember seeing one of them change, where their clothes had gone, how fast it had been . . . And unlike the Elves from ancient Twilight Town, the elves here in Ivalice – from what he was told – they growl and show their teeth for _everything_. They are not ethereal, gentle folk that legend painted. No holding hands, no dancing around the maypole with flowers in their hair. They are predators, the lot of them. Some of the dominant females are just as aggressive, prone to snarling when challenged or annoyed or even hungry. He supposed he might fit in with them if he bothers to try.

Reno then sighs as he reaches behind him and pulls forward a satchel Roxas didn't notice he had brought along. He sees Reno pull out a book of deep purple with a mystic looking symbol etched into the cover. "Roxas, look I want you to watch me for a second. Please."

Roxas looks towards the redhead as he opens the book up to a certain page marked by a black ribbon. Reno's eyes flick over the page a few times before he sets down the book atop the satchel and takes a step back. Roxas follows his lead and takes two steps back.

A soft flash of light, a ripple of color, and a hawk is flapping midair, beating or the nearest tree branch. He settles on it, clicking his beak. Roxas scans the mossy earth. No sign of his clothes, his weapons. It had taken barely more than a few heartbeats.

Roxas had seen this hawk before. It had watched him for days as he lazed on the rooftops in Lesalia, watched him drink and steal and doze and brawl.

He gives a battle cry and swoops, talons slashing for Roxas' eyes. Roxas lunges behind the tree as there is another flash and shudder of color, and then Reno is clothed and armed and smiling at him. "You're turn."

It was – incredible. Incredible to see the shift. "How-how did you do that?"

"The same way you can shift from human to Elf." Reno answers with a too-casual shrug of his shoulders.

"Are, are you –?"

"No," he chuckles with a shake of his head. "like I said, I had studied their traditions and culture for years. And in turn, I had also gained the ability to learn how to shift."

"That must've taken years." Roxas breathes, still astonished.

"It did, at least for me since I'm human. But don't get discouraged. For you, it'll be easy to learn this. You can learn the simplest shifts and magic within days compared to the years it would for mortals." Reno encourages.

"Where did your clothes go?"

"Between, somewhere. I don't particularly care." Reno chuckles. "Now come on. _Your turn_."

Nodding his head, Roxas calms his breathing. He imagines phantom fingers reaching down, pulling his Elven form out. Imagines a wash of color and light. Pushes himself against his mortal flesh. But – nothing.

"We might be here for a while." Roxas grumbles.

"Well, good thing we brought snacks." Reno says as he turns and waves to Roxas, heading back towards the shade of the weeping willows.

Sighing, Roxas stomps his foot into the ground and unfastens his cloak. He flaps it open wide like the picnic blanket Reno no occupies and sits down, folding his legs together. He thinks back to all of the calming mediation that a female Indian princess had taught him; back when Roxas would throw tantrums, equaling in the destruction of any unlucky room he so happened to stomp into.

She would speak of how every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name. Sing with all the voices of the mountains, paint with the colors of the wind.

 _Calm, deep breaths_. _Breathe_.

Roxas inhales through his nose, resting his hands on his knees, palms up. He tries to let the sounds of nature calm his body. He tries to memorize each of the sounds: the whispers of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, the drops of dew drops into puddles. While it may be deemed stereotypical, Elves are mostly associated with nature.

Reno doesn't say anything as he munches on the picnic food and turns the pages to his book. Unfortunately, this is all that happens for the next twenty, thirty, forty-five minutes. Roxas adjusted from folding his legs, to lying flat on his back, to even just trying to sleep. But he doesn't shift.

Once he knew he has been sitting in the grass long enough to leave a body impression, Roxas hoists himself up and to his feet. He turns to Reno. "I'm going to try and go for a walk."

"Alright." Reno replies, nearly finished with his book. He had barely started it when they had arrived. "Don't go too far –"

" _I'm not going to leave the meadow_." Roxas groans as he rolls his eyes. Reno simply shakes his head and allows Roxas to wander.

There is only blackness within. Ageless, breathing blackness.

Roxas' heartbeat pounds in his ears as the darkness reaches for him.

Every step towards the central mound has Roxas' blood roaring. The darkness between the stained, ancient stones grows, swirling. It is colder, too. Cold and dry. He doesn't dare look too long towards the open doorway and the thing lurking beyond. A lingering shred of pride – stupid, mortal pride – keeps Roxas from bolting through the rest of the field. Running, he remembers, only attracts some predators. So he keeps his steps slow and calls on every bit of training he's had, even as the wight slinks closer to the threshold, no more than a ripple of ravenous hunger encased in rags.

Yet the wight remains within its mound, even as Roxas comes near enough to drag into the barrow, as if it were . . . hesitating.

Roxas is just passing the barrow when a pulsing, stale bite of air pushes against his ears. Maybe running was a good idea. If magic is the only weapon against wights, then his weapons and hands will be useless. Still, the wights linger beyond the threshold.

The strange, dead air pushes against his ears again, a high-pitched ringing wending itself into his head. Roxas hurries, grass crunching as he gathers every detail he can to wield against whatever assailant lurks nearby. Treetops sway in the misty breeze on the other end of the field. It isn't far.

Roxas passes the central mound, cracking his jaw against the ringing in his hears, worse and worse with each step. Even the wight cringes away. It hasn't been hesitating because of him.

The circle of dead grass ends a few steps away – just a few. Just a few, and then he will run from whatever is was that can make a wight tremble in fear.

And then Roxas sees him. The man standing beyond the barrow.

Not a wight. Not Reno. Roxas only glimpses only a flash of pale skin, night-dark hair, unfathomable beauty, and an onyx torque around his strong column of a neck, and –

 _Vanitas_?

Blackness. A wave of it, slamming down on him.

Not oblivion but actual dark, as if the figure has thrown a blanket over the two of them.

Not Vanitas.

The ground _feels_ grassy, but he can't see it. Can't see _anything_. Not beyond, not to the side, not behind. There is only him and swirling black.

Roxas crouches, biting down on a curse as he scans the dark. Whatever this man was, despite his shape, he isn't mortal. In his perfection, in those depthless eyes, there is nothing human.

Blood tickles Roxas' upper lip – a nosebleed. The pounding in his ears begins to drown out his thoughts, any plan, as if his body is repulsed by the very essence of whatever this thing it. The darkness remains, impenetrable, unending.

 _Stop. Breathe_.

But someone is breathing behind him. Is it the man, or something else?

The breathing is louder, closer, and a chilled air brushes his nose, his lips, licking along his skin. Running – running is smarter than just waiting. He takes several bounding steps that _should_ have taken him towards the edge of the field, but –

Nothing. Only endless black and the breathing _thing_ that is closer now, reeking of dust and carrion and another scent, something he hasn't smelled for a lifetime but can never forget, not when it has been coating that room like paint.

Oh, _gods_. Breath on her neck, snaking up the shell of his ear.

"Roxas!" he hears someone scream.

Roxas whirls, drawing in what might very well be his last breath, and the world flashes bright. Not with clouds and dead grass. Not with a red-head waiting nearby. The room . . .

The room . . .

The servant woman is screaming. Screaming like a teakettle. There are still puddles just inside the shut windows – windows Roxas himself head sealed the night before when they had been flapping in the swift and sudden storm.

He had thought the bed was wet because of the rain. He had climbed in because the storm had made him hear such horrible things, made him feel like there was something _wrong_ , like there was someone standing in the corner of his room. It was not rain soaking the bed in that elegantly rugged chamber at the country manor.

It was not rain that had dried on him, on his hands and skin and nightgown. And that smell – not just blood, but something else . . . "This is not real," Roxas said aloud, backing away from the bed on which he is standing on like a ghost. " _This is not real_."

But there is his aunt and uncle, sprawled on the bed, their throat sliced ear to ear.

There is his uncle, broad-shouldered and handsome, his skin already gray.

There is his aunt, her golden hair matted with blood, her face . . . her face . . .

Slaughter like animals. The wounds are so vulgar, so gaping and deep, and his aunt and uncle looked so – so –

Roxas vomits. He falls to his knees, his bladder loosening just before he vomits a second time.

"This is not real, this is not real." Roxas gasps as a wet warmth soaks his pants. He can't breathe, can't breathe, can't –

And then he is pushing to his feet, bolting away from the room, towards the wood-paneled walls, through them like a wraith himself, until –

Another bedroom, another body.

Ventus. Carved up, mutilated, violated and broken.

The _thing_ lurking behind him slides a hand over Roxas' waist, along his abdomen, pulling him back against its chest with a lover's gentleness. He feels the tongue of a snake tickle along his neck towards his ear. A hand groping his chest, slowly drifting down, down further –

Panic surges, so strong that Roxas slams his elbow back and up – hitting what feels like flesh and bone. It hisses, releasing him. That is all he needs. Roxas runs, treading through the illusion of his friend's blood and organs, and then –

" _Roxas_!"

Watery sunlight and dead grass and a lightly armed redhead whom he sprints towards, not caring about the vomit on his clothes, his soiled pants, the grasping, shrieking noise coming out of his throat. Roxas runs until he reaches him and falls to the green grass, gripping it, shredding it, retching even though he has nothing left in him but a tickle of bile. Roxas is screaming or sobbing or not making any sound at all.

Then he feels the shift and the surge, a well opening beneath his stomach and filling with burning, relentless fire.

 _No_. _No_.

"Roxas."

The assassin lifts his head, not caring how ugly he looks to Reno, just willing to beg to even him to make it stop.

" _Reno_." Agony cleaves him a pulse, his vision jumping between crystal clarity and the mute eyesight of mortals, his teeth aching as the fangs punch out and retract. It's just like back when he was under his mother's serum. And the fear he has thought he had controlled unleashes itself like the wildfire.

With each shift, the well deepens, that wildfire rising and falling, boiling up and up and up.

" _Help_!" Roxas throat burns as he screams. The magic is coming out, at last unleashed.

Magic –

The world erupts into silver fire.

* * *

Roxas awakens under the canopy of the forest. It is still daylight, and from the dirt on his shirt and pants and boots, it seems like Reno had dragged him here from the barrows.

There is vomit on his shirt and pants. And then there is . . . He had wet himself. Roxas' face heats, but he shoves away the thoughts about _why_ he had pissed himself, why he had hurled his guts up. And the last thought, about magic –

"Oh thank the blessed gods!" a voice exclaims.

Head throbbing, he finds Reno sitting on a rock, his muscular arms braced to his knees before he jumps up and hurries to Roxas' side. Roxas ignores the pounding as Reno envelops him as best he can without dirtying himself with Roxas' filth.

Looking out toward the field, he feels his body grow numb. Where there was green lush grass, it is all black. As if someone had painted the entire meadow with black. It stretches as far as he can see, some spots of the woods is fine, perfectly preserved, but the majority has been devoured by . . . magic. _His_ magic.

"I told you not to wonder far!" Reno says sternly. "You made it to the other side of the field, but you practically threw a magical tantrum."

"I will _kill_ you." Roxas says, pulling away. His words are raw and gasping. "Do you have _any_ idea what –!"

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are?!" Reno says, his voice is strong, but his face is as pale and as worried as Axel's would have been. No – just like how Axel's would have been. "That thing should not have been here."

"Then what in the hell was it, you stupid bastard?"

Reno clenches his jaw. "I don't know. We've had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this . . . this was something different. I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. It was gone when I circled back."

Reno turns and hands Roxas a canteen of fresh water. The mere sight of it makes Roxas stomach grumble with nausea, but knowing he has nothing inside of him and his headache close to knocking him unconscious, he accept with a nod of a thank you and appreciativeness.

"Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were . . . different." Roxas dares to look at himself. His skin is bone-white, as if the little color he had received lying on those rooftops in Lesalia had been leeched away, and not only by fright and sickness.

"No." Roxas says. His lip begins to quiver and his voice chokes.

"Other lives could depend on it –"

"I want to go back to the mansion." Roxas breathes. He doesn't want to know about the creature or about the skinwalkers or about any of it. Each word if an effort. "Right now."

And then he breaks into sobs. He wails loudly and Reno doesn't stop him, only offering a hand on the shoulder and a gentle rubbing on his back. He probably would've hugged Roxas if not for the filth on him, and that's the only thing that makes Roxas pulls himself together again.

His body aches, and when he breathes, he feels like there are strings connecting to each and every piece of him broken spirit, and when he inhales, the strings pull taut and collect the pieces back together into him. His throat tightens, as if he needs to cry before he simply falls and won't want to get up.

"I am _done_ for today. In that darkness, I saw things that no one should be able to see, it dragged me through my memories – and not the decent ones. Is that enough for you?"

Reno sighs and nods his head. He gets to his feet and begins packing up the blanket and spilled food, of which Roxas assumes he had toppled over when he scrambled up to get to Roxas. Roxas pushes to his feet, stumbling and staggering, knees trembling, but waving off Reno's insistence of help. Roxas keeps moving after him, all the way to perimeter of the mansion's property, where he angles his body so that none of the passing men or worksers can see his soiled pants, the vomit. There is no hiding his face, though. He keeps his attention on the redhead, until he opens the wooden door and a wall of steam hits Roxas. "Here, I'll bring you some fresh clothes." Roxas doesn't say anything as he steps through the threshold and into the bathroom.

There, when he was sure Reno was gone, and after he has stripped off his dirtied clothes, throwing them in the garbage can and stuffing them down with freshly clean towels, Roxas climbs into the tub and unleashes his ungodly sobs.

It is the only sound he hears for the next hours.

When he finally does emerge from the bathing chamber, he half-ass dries himself, ignoring his hair and simply pulling on a pair of undergarments before collapsing into bed, and sleeps.

And sleeps. And sleeps. He doesn't feel like talking with anyone. And no one comes for him, anyway. Artemis had whined when he had entered the room, and merely burrowed herself underneath the bed.

The morning of the third day he didn't leave his bed, Roxas almost slept in for a fourth time from the dream he had: he was back in the meadow, his friends all around him with flower crowns and a large picnic set up. Roxas was off somewhere with Ventus – beautiful and bright and pure – and he was just sitting in a field of white daisies, matching the white of Ventus' tunic. They were laughing, and Roxas had to wipe his eyes from the tears that produced form the laughter. Then Ventus stood up and closed his eyes, and Roxas watched a smile and amazement as Ventus shifted. Shifted into a gorgeous white stag with enormous antlers and the white of his tunic shifting into sparkling fur. Roxas was on his feet and petted the stag's soft nose, resting his forehead against its own and feeling . . . at peace.

It only made him feel worse when he woke to the dawn, and the sky a bleak overcast. Predicting rain in the late afternoon.

Roxas braces his hands on the dresser and grimaces at his reflection. He looks like shit, feels like shit. Even more grim and gaunt than yesterday. He picks up the tin of salve that Reno had given him, but then decides to ignore it. Not like he doesn't deserve the pain, and this traces far back before he had even met Axel on his ship. And he'd looked worse – two years ago, when his father had beaten him to a bloody pulp for disobeying his orders. This is _nothing_ compared to how mangled Roxas had been then.

He opens the door to find that someone had left his new suit – but fresh. His boots have been cleaned of mud and dust. Either Reno had left them, or someone else had noticed his filthy clothing. Gods – he had _soiled_ himself in front of Reno. And ruined the new and expensive suit.

He doesn't let himself wallow in the humiliation as he dresses into the suit and goes to the kitchen, to the halls bright of the early hours after dawn. Already, everyone is awake, and eating their foods at the dining table, Sora and Luxord finally able to emerge from the kitchen to join. Zack is prattling about the fighting knife that Xigbar had loaned him for his training, and on and on and on. Vanitas is casually sitting with a glass of juice in his hand; his dark hair briefly making Roxas gasp but he gathers his composure and sighs.

Apparently he had underestimated how horrific his face was, because Zack stops his chattering midsentence to swear. Turning heads, Sora takes one look at Roxas and drops his silver fork making it clatter loudly against the porcelain plate. "Good Mother and all her children!" "Roxas." Vanitas and Sora speak over one another.

Sora leaps from up his seat and hurries over to Roxas to grasp the blonde's shoulder and lightly hover his hands over Roxas' bruised face, afraid to touch him. Roxas goes over to the table, stopping in between the chairs of Xigbar and Riku and plucks a single grape from the bunch. "It looks worse than it feels." A lie. His head is still pounding from the cut on his brow, and his eye is deeply bruised beneath.

"I've got some salve in my room –" Sora starts from where he already was next, but Roxas easily strode from where he was on the other side of the table, making it to Sora and grabs his wrists and gives him a long look.

"It's none of your business."

Sora wrenches his wrist free, anger dancing in those bright, clever eyes. "It's my business when you are my best friend."

"I've been through worse." Roxas says.

Sora eyes Roxas' mangled hands, his black eye, and the ring of scars around his neck, courtesy of Setzer. He silently invites the boy to do the calculations: a life in Twilight Town with Elven blood, a life in Twilight Town as an assassin . . . His face pales.

After a long moment, Vanitas says, "Leave it alone, Sora." And goes back over to the table to reclaim his seat.

Breakfast was rather quieter than Roxas would've liked, mostly because he had forced himself to sit in the kitchen to avoid Sora's concerned eyes and prepared bombardment of questions. Not to mention he has a hard time looking at Vanitas after seeing that figure in the woods. Even though it wasn't him the similarities were disturbing. But worst of all was when he keeps thinking back to the memory that had erupted in the darkness. The memory of being the bedroom with his . . . aunt, and uncle. Relatives of which he didn't know he had _any_ memories of. But he did remembers the details: the pointed ears, the unearthly beauty, even when smeared with blood. It was like one of those dreams when you know what's going on and know who you are with, but at the same time, you don't.

The only thin silver lining is that Roxas isn't going to let this stop him. No matter how painful he feels, no matter what, he needs to keep training, like his father would make him do if he were here. He had to keep going, if anything, those memoires had left Roxas with more questions than answers, as well as fueling his determination to find out what creature could be inhabitants or something else. . .

So when Reno comes down into the kitchen, Roxas merely gives him a forced smile. He quickly waves off Reno's suggestions to cancel training and gathers the picnic basket once more, packing more snacks and this time leaving without sparring goodbyes to Sora or to Vanitas.

Unfortunately, training was horrible that day. Not just because Reno asked if Roxas was going to vomit and piss himself again out of his own cruel humor, but also because for hours – _hours_ – Roxas sat amongst the temple ruins on the ridge, battered by the misty wind. He needs to shift – that is his only goal. In a way, it could be more of a punishment for Reno because even though he is kept fed and entertained, he is still sitting alone and he has a short attention span. Not even napping was enough to occupy him while Roxas sat amongst the stones.

But after yesterday, nothing short of taking his long dagger and cutting his own ears into points will get Roxas to change forms. He tries – he truly does when he has the privacy. He tugs and yanks and pulls at whatever lies deep inside him, but gets nothing. No flash of light or searing pain.

So they sit on the mountain side, Roxas frozen to the bone. At least he doesn't lose control again, no matter how much anger boils inside of him or how much warmth he craves. Roxas had asked Reno if he was pursuing the creature that had bene in the barrow-wights' field, and he merely said he was looking into it.

Thunderclouds clustered during the late afternoon. Reno was more than eager to end the training of the day, but Roxas forced himself to sit through the storm until his teeth are clattering in his skill and his blood is thick with ice; hoping to somehow extinguish the dangerous flame that dwells in his heart. And after Reno calls Roxas out on how crazy he is, then they finally make the trek to the mansion.

When Roxas finally emerges from the bathing chamber, there is the dry suit in his room, folded and placed with such care that he is starting to wonder whether Sora was shadowing him.

He debates in staying his room for the rest of the night, especially as rain lashes at his window, lightning illuminating the trees beyond. But his stomach gurgles. He is light-headed again, and he knew he'd been eating like an idiot. With his black eye, the best thing to do is eat – even if it means going to the kitchen.

Roxas waits until he thinks everyone has gone upstairs. There are always leftovers after breakfast – there has to be some at dinner. Gods, he is bone-tired. And aches even worse than he had this morning.

He hears the voices long before he enters the kitchen and almost turns back, but – no one has spoken to her at breakfast save for Sora. Surely everyone will ignore him now, too.

Roxas had estimated a good number of the men in the formal living room, but it still a bit surprised by how packed it is. Chairs and cushions have been dragged in, all facing the hearth, before which Reno and Riku sit, chatting with those gathered. There is food on every surface, as if dinner had bene held in here. Keeping to the shadows atop the stairs, Roxas observes them. The living room is spacious, if a bit cold.

He doesn't particularly care – not when he sees the food. He slips through the gathered crowd with practiced stealth and ease, filling up a plate with roast chicken, potatoes (gods, he is already sick of potatoes), and hot bread. Everyone is still chatting; those who don't have seats are standing against the counters or walls, laughing and sipping from their mugs of ale.

The upper half of the kitchen door is open to let out the heat from all the bodies, the sound of rain filling the room like a drum. Roxas catches a glimmer of movement outside, but when he looks, there is nothing there.

Roxas is about to slip back up the stairs when Riku claps his hands and everyone stops talking. Roxas pauses again in the shadows of the stairwell. Smiles spread, and people settle in. seated on the floor in front of Reno's chair is Sora, Vanitas propped on his elbows with his legs stretched out long and crossed at the ankles. Sora has his arms around Vanitas' shoulders in an embrace – casually, but with enough of a grip to tell everyone in the room that he is his. Roxas rolls his eyes, not at all surprised.

Still, Roxas catches the look Riku gives Sora, the mischief in his eyes that sends a pang of jealousy through him. Roxas had looked at Axel with that same expression. But their relationship has never bene as unburdened, and even if things hadn't ended between them, it would never be like that. The ring on his finger becomes a weight.

Lightning flashes, revealing the grass and forest beyond. Seconds later, thunder shakes the stones, triggering a few shirks and laughs.

Reno clears his throat, and every eye snaps to his lined face. The ancient fireplace illuminates his platinum blonde hair, casting shadows throughout the room. "Long ago," Luxord begins, his voice weaving between the drumming rain and the grumbling thunder and crackling fire. "when there was no mortal king on Ivalice's throne, the faeries still walled among us. Some are good and fair, some are prone to little mischiefs, and some are fouler and darker than the blackest night."

Roxas swallows. These are words that have bene spoken in front of the fireplaces for thousands of years – spoken in living rooms like this one. Tradition.

"It was those wicked faeries," Reno goes on, the words resonating in every crack and crevice, "that you always had to watch for on the ancient roads, or in the wood, or on nights like this, when you can hear the wind moaning your name."

"Oh, not this one." Sora groans, but it wasn't heartfelt. Some of the others laughed – a bit nervously, even. Zack protests. "I won't sleep for a week."

Roxas lens against the stone wall, shoveling food down his throat as the redhead weaves his tale. The hair on his neck stands on end for the duration of it, and he can even see every horrific moment of the story as clearly as if he had lived it.

As Reno finishes his tale, thunder booms, and even Roxas flinches, almost upsetting his empty plate. There are some wary laughs, some taunts and gentle pushes. Roxas frowns. If he had heard this story – with the wretched creatures who delighted themselves in skin-sewing and bone-crunching and lightning-crisping – before traveling here with his men, he never would have traveled here. Not in a million years.

He sues breathing exercises to calm his pounding heart. Still, he'd be lucky if he slept tonight.

Though everyone else seemed to be waiting for the next story, Roxas stands. As he turns to leave, he looks again to that half-open kitchen door, just to make sure there was nothing lurking outside. But it is not some fell creature who waits in the rain. A large white-tailed hawk is perched in the shadows.

It sits absolutely still. But the hawk's eyes – there is something strange about them.

"Roxas." Reno is extending a hand from where he sits before the fireplace. "Would you perhaps share a story form your lands? We'd love to hear a tale, if you'd do us the honor."

Roxas keeps his eyes on the redhead as everyone turns to where he stands in the shadows. Not one of them offered a word of encouragement, save for Sora, who said, "Tell us!"

But he has no right to tell those stories as if there are his own. And he cannot remember them correctly, not as they have been told at his beside.

He clamps down on the thought as hard as he can, shoving back long enough to calmly say, "No, thank you." And walk away. No one comes after him. He doesn't give a damn what Reno makes of the whole thing.

The whispers died with each step, and it isn't until he had shut the door to his room and slid into bed that he loosens a sigh. The rain stops, the clouds clear on a brisk wind, and through the window, a patch of stars flicker above the tree line.

He has no stories to tell. All the legends of Twilight Town are lost to him, and only fragments are strewn through his memories like rubble.

Roxas pulls his blanket higher and drapes an arm over Artemis as she settles by his side, and shuts out the ever-watching stars.


	10. Chapter 9

The black eyes was still gruesome, but it improved over the next week as Roxas visited Zexion, tried and failed with Reno, who generally didn't complain or comment. The spring rains have come to stay and the living room is packed every night, so Roxas takes to eating dinner on the shadowed steps, arriving just before the Story Keeper begins speaking.

Story Keeper – that's what Reno is, a title of honor amongst both Elves and humans in Ivalice. What it means is that when he begins telling a story, you sit down and shut up. It also means that he is a walking library of the kingdom's legends and myths.

At least the two of them had something to do at with the presence of one another outside of training; of which Roxas isn't going to stop with, even if that creature-thing knew how to get inside his head.

And after that, Roxas stayed close to Reno in the field, not daring to wonder off any further than twenty feet. _Training_ is a generous way to describe what Roxas and Reno were doing, as Roxas had accomplished _nothing_. He didn't shift once. Roxas snarled and sneered and hissed, but he couldn't do it. Every day, always when Reno disappeared for a few moments, he tried, but – nothing. Reno idiotically recommend they go back to the barrows, as that seemed to be the only thing that triggered any sort of response, but he'd backed off when Roxas told him that he'd slit his own throat before entering that place again. Reno stayed clear as Roxas swore at himself, sat in brooding silence on the temple ruins, but occasionally they had those unspoken conversations.

If Roxas is in a particularly nasty mood, he made himself chop wood – log after log, until his he can hardly lift the ax and his hands were blistered. Reno insisted Roxas doesn't have to, but Roxas told him that if he is going to be pissed off at the whole damn world, if he is going to waste time by not shifting, then he might as well be useful in some way. It was either the wood, or the entire living room of the mansion.

All this waiting – for him. For the shift that makes him shudder to think about.

It is on the eighth day after scrubbing pots and pans until his back throbs, that Roxas had dismissed himself into the mansion's library. He walked in and grabbed whatever books his hands had grasped and plopped them down onto the long mahogany table and sat down. He spent the next five hours just sitting at the table and reading through each of the books, no matter what genre or topic, so long as he could take his mind and anger off of the idea of even shifting.

Nearing the sixth hour is when he hears the doors open and lifting his head from his volume on the study of yarn, Roxas finds Riku walking towards him with a grin on his face.

"That impish grin makes me nervous." Roxas says as he places the ribbon bookmark into the spine of the page.

Riku simply wanders over to the desk, setting his palms flat on the wood and expands his grin. "I've got us a job."

His spirit still bitter, Roxas' eyebrows narrow as he closes the book and leans forward. "What's Reno got now?"

"Oh no, this isn't with Reno." Riku says. "Just a little something I picked up from the local inn."

Roxas raises and eyebrow, and can feel a dangerous smile crawl on his face. "What's the job?"

"There have been a few mercenaries who have bene causing trouble for the local wench." Riku explains, still choosing to stand.

"A wench? Not the innkeeper?"

"There's more to it than that. I think if you see what she does then you'll see what I mean." Roxas raises an eyebrow, "Trust me. I can't really explain her in words."

After a moment of silence, Roxas decides to feed into the bitterness and dangerous darkness dwelling inside him; courtesy of his failure to shift. "When do we leave?" he asks.

"Meet me at the inn tonight. It'll be quite a time consuming mission in the lower end of the slums."

"I've been through worse." Roxas says as he rises from his chair. "I hope you have an excuse to Reno and Sora."

"I simply told them that I will be leaving with you on a hunting mission and we'll be gone for a few days, close to a week."

"And they were just okay with it?"

"Reno's exact words were: So long as he focuses on something other than shifting for once, I'm fine with it." Riku quotes.

Roxas rolls his eyes and sighs, walking out of the library with Riku, leaving the books where they are. "Alright, I'll see you tonight."

After they depart from each other, it doesn't take long for Roxas to slip into his suit, strap on his daggers and swords Oblivion and Oathkeeper and make his way out of the mansion, Riku not too far behind. Sparing that he had left Sora and Reno a note of attention, and giving Artemis a pat on the head goodbye, he pulls his hood up over his head and pulls up his mask. Truthfully, he wants something to happen tonight. Chopping wood is one thing, but something deep inside Roxas' hollow center craves for blood.

It's days later that Roxas is sitting at his table in the absolutely worthless inn, wondering how his life had gone to hell so quickly.

He hates Bervenia. Hates the reek of trash and filth, hates the heavy blanket of mist that shrouds it day and night, hates the second-rate merchants and mercenaries and generally miserable people who occupy it.

No one here knew who he was, or why he had come; no one knew that the boy beneath the hood is Roxas Skyes, the most notorious assassin in Kingdom Heart's empire. But then again, he doesn't want them to know. _Can't_ let them know, actually.

He has been here for two days now – two days spent either holed up in his despicable room (a "suite," the oily innkeeper had the nerve to call it), or down here in the taproom that stinks of sweat, stale ale, and unwashed bodies. Riku had said that the job was lengthy in the lower part of the slums, but his description was vague compared to what had welcomed Roxas. A part of him wants to desperately gut Riku for this, but with Roxas and his big mouth, he had said he had been through worse, so now he's stuck acting like this isn't the worst inn he has ever stayed in. Which truthfully it wasn't, but between living in a mansion, then a glass castle, and then back into a mansion, this service is less than shit.

He would have left is he had any choice. But he is forced to stay here, thanks to Riku. He could've sworn Riku had told him all of the details about the mission, but Roxas had foolishly tuned him out as he was trying to ease his craving for bloodletting. But now . . . this mission is his own form of punishment for not shifting once after all of the time Reno had patiently put into waiting for him. Which means waiting here, in this dump of a tavern, for a carriage to take him to the capital city.

Roxas sighs and takes a long drink of his ale. He almost spits it out. Disgusting. Cheap as cheap can be, like the rest of this place. Like the stew he hasn't touched. Whatever meat is in there isn't from any creature worth eating. Bread and mild cheese it is, then.

Roxas sits back in his seat, watching the barmaid with brown-gold hair slip through the labyrinth of tables and chairs. The girl is nimble and dodges the men who grope her, all without disturbing the tray she carries over her shoulder. What a waste of swift feet, good balance, and intelligent, stunning eyes. The girl isn't dumb. Roxas had noted the way she watched the room and its patrons – the way she watched Roxas himself. What personal hell had driven her to work here?

Roxas doesn't particularly care. The questions are mostly to drive the boredom away. Not one of the shops in Bervenia had a single book for sale – only spices, fish, out-of fashion clothing, and nautical gear. For a port town, this is pathetic. But the Kingdom of Fovoham has fallen on hard times in the past millennia – since the Dark Lord Xehanort had conquered the continent and redirected trade through Lesalia instead of Fovoham's few eastern ports. Why no one – King Sephiroth in particular – hadn't bothered to change it is beyond him.

The whole world has fallen on hard times, it seems. Roxas included.

He fights the urge to touch his face. The swelling from the beating he had received from that creature has gone down, but the bruises remain. He avoided looking in the sliver of mirror above his dresser, knowing what he's see: mottled purple and blue and yellow along his cheekbones, the still healing black eye, and a still-healing split lip. It was deserved though; it was well-deserved, he tells himself.

Even if he is so angry that he can't think straight. Even if he'd gotten into not one, not two, but three bar fights in the two to three days that he'd been traveling with Riku from the Lesalia Capital City to Bervenia. One of the brawls, at least, had been rightfully provoked: a man had cheated at a round of cards. But the other two . . .

There is no denying it: he'd merely been spoiling for a fight. No blades, no weapons. Just fists and feet. Roxas supposed he should feel bad about it – about the broken nose and jaws, about the heaps of unconscious bodies in his wake. But he doesn't.

Of which Riku had condemned Roxas to the inn while he scoured the town for clues and leads of their mission, whatever it was. He told Roxas plainly that he didn't want them to lose allies or important information because Roxas wanted to throw a good punch. Which, if Roxas had to admit, was fair enough. But Roxas is still left bitter as Riku would be gone for another day, leaving Roxas lone in the inn for the night.

Roxas couldn't bring himself to care, because those moments he spent brawling were the few moments he felt like himself again. When he felt like Kingdom Hearts' greatest assassin, Cloud Skyes chosen heir.

Even if his opponents were drunks and untrained fighters; even if he should know better.

The barmaid reaches the safety of the counter, and Roxas glances around the room. The innkeeper is still watching him, as she had for the past two days, wondering how she could squeeze even more money out of Roxas' bag. Riku has left has he had for the past two days to scour for clues and leads. There are several other men observing Roxas, too. Some he recognized from previous nights, while others are new faces that he quickly sized up. Was it fear or luck that had kept them away from Roxas so far?

Roxas had made no secret of the fact that he carried money with him. And his clothes and weapons speak volumes about his wealth, too. The ruby brooch he wears practically begs for trouble – he wears it to _invite_ trouble, actually. It was a gift from his father on his sixteenth birthday; he hopes someone will try to steal it. If they are good enough, he might just let them. So it is only a matter of time, really, before one of them tries to rob him.

And before he decides he is bored of fighting only with fists and feet. He glances at the Oathkeeper by his side. It glints in the tavern's dank light.

If Roxas was smart, if he was levelheaded, he will avoid any confrontation tonight and leave Bervenia in peace, no matter where he goes.

But he isn't feeling particularly smart or levelheaded – certainly not once the hours pass and the air in the inn shifts into a hungry, wild thing that howls for blood.

* * *

The serving wench, Rinoa, looks over at her spot from behind the bar as she wipes the counter. The strange young man has been sitting at the Doguola Inn for two days now and has hardly spoken to anyone save for the older adolescent with silver hair, and the innkeeper, who had taken one look at the boy's fine night-dark clothes and bent over backwards to accommodate him.

She had given him the best room at the Inn – the room she only offered to patrons she intended to bleed dry – and didn't seem at all bothered by the heavy hood the young man wore or the assortment of weapons that gleamed along his long, lean body. Not when he tossed her a gold coin with a casual flick of his gloved fingers. Not when he was wearing an ornate gold brooch with a ruby the size of a robin's egg.

Then again, that sleazing whore is never really afraid of anyone, unless they seem likely not to pay her – and even then, it is anger and greed, not fear, that wins out.

Rinoa Heartilly has bene watching the young man from the safety of the taproom bar. Watching, if only because the stranger is young and mostly unaccompanied by his silver-haired acquaintance and sits at the back table with such stillness that it is impossible _not_ to look at him. Not to wonder.

Rinoa hasn't seen his face yet, though she caught a glimpse every now and then of a golden spike of hair glinting from beneath the depths of his black hood. In any other city, the Doguola Inn would likely be considered the lowest of the low as far as luxury and cleanliness are concerned. But here in Bervenia, a port town so small it isn't on most maps, it is considered the finest.

The stranger at the back table lifts his head, signaling with a gloved finger for Riona to bring another ale. For someone who doesn't seem older than twenty, the young man drank an ungodly amount – wine, ale, whatever the innkeeper bade Rinoa bring over – but never seemed to lose himself to it. It is impossible to tell with that heavy hood, though. These past two nights he had merely stalked back to his room with a feline grace, not stumbling over himself like most of the patrons on their way out of after last call.

Rinoa quickly pours ale into the mug he had just been drying and sets it on a tray. She adds a glass of water and some more bread, since the boy hadn't touched the stew he'd been given for dinner. Not a single bite. Smart man.

Rinoa weaves through the packed taproom, dodging the hands that try to grab her. Halfway through her trek, she caught the innkeeper's eye from where she sat by the front door. An encouraging nod, her mostly greasy head gleaming in the dim light. _Keep him drinking. Keep him buying_.

Rinoa avoids rolling her eyes, if only because the innkeeper was the sole reason she wasn't walking the cobblestone streets with the other young women of Bervenia. She had bene eighteen and desperate, and had gladly taken a job that offered only a few coppers and a miserable little bed in a broom closet beneath the stairs.

Rinoa reaches the stranger's table and finds the young man looking up at her. "I brought you some water and bread, too." She stammers by way of greeting. She sets down the ale, but hesitates with the other two items on her tray.

The young man just says, "Thank you." His voice is low and cool – cultured. Educated. And completely uninterested in Rinoa.

Not that there was anything about her that was remotely interesting, with her homespun wool dress doing little for her too-slim figure. Like most who hail from Galtea, Rinoa has ivory toned skin and absolutely dark-black hair and is of average height. Only her eyes, a sharp gleaming-grey, gave her any source of pride. Not that most people see them. Riona did her best to keep her eyes down most of the time, avoiding any invitation for communication or the wrong kind of attention.

So, Rinoa sets down the bread and water and take the empty mug from where the boy had pushed it into the center of the table. But curiosity wins out, and she peers into the black depths beneath the young man's cowl. Nothing but shadows, a gleam of gold hair, and a hint of pale skin. She had so many questions – so, so many questions. _Who are you? What do you come from? Where are you going Can you use all those blades you carry_?

Riona only curtsied and walked back to the bar through the field of groping hands, eyes downcast as she plasters a distant smile on her face.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last long as the atmosphere in the Doguola Inn changes. Riona doesn't know how or when it happened, but it changes. It is as if all of the gathered men are waiting for something. The boy in the back is still at his table, still brooding. But his gloved fingers are tapping on the scarred wooden surface, and every now and then, he shifts his hooded head to look around the room.

Rinoa couldn't leave even if she wanted to. Last call isn't for another forty minutes, and she'd have to stay an hour after that to clean up and usher intoxicated patrons out the door. She doesn't care where they went one they passed the threshold – doesn't care if they wind up facedown in a watery ditch – just as long as they get out of the taproom. And stayed gone.

The innkeeper vanished moments ago, either to save her own hide or to do some dark dealings in the back alley, and her co-worker still in that sailor's lap, flirting away, unaware of the shift in the air.

Rinoa keeps looking at the hooded boy. So does many of the tavern's patrons. Were they waiting for him to get up? There are some thieves she recognized – thieves who have been circling like vultures for the past two days, trying to figure out whether the strange boy can use the weapons he carried. It is common knowledge that he is leaving tomorrow at dawn. If they want his money, his jewelry, weapons, or something far darker, tonight will be their last chance.

Rinoa chews on her lip as she pours a round of ales for the table of four mercenaries playing kings. She should warn the boy – tell him that he might be better off sneaking to his carriage right now, before he winds up with a slit throat.

But her boss will throw her out into the streets is she knew she had warned him. Especially when many of the cutthroats are beloved patrons who often share their ill-gained profits with him. And she has no doubt that her boss will send those very men after her if she betrays her. How had Rinoa become so adjusted to these people?

Rinoa swallows hard, pouring another mug of ale. Her mother wouldn't have hesitated to warn the boy.

But her mother had been a good woman – a woman who never wavered, who never turned away a sick or wounded person, no matter how poor, from the door of their cottage in southern Galtea. Never.

As a prodigiously gifted healer with no small amount of magic; her mother has always said it wasn't right to charge people for what she'd been given for free by Etro, the Goddess of Healing. And the only time she had seen her mother falter was the day the soldiers from Kerwon surrounded their house, armed to the teeth and bearing torches and wood.

They hadn't bothered to listen when her mother explained that her power, like Rinoa's, had already disappeared months before, along with the rest of the magic in the land – abandoned by the gods, her mother had claimed.

No, the soldiers hadn't listened at all. And neither had any of those vanished gods whom her mother and Rinoa had pleaded for salvation.

It was the first – and only – time her mother took a life.

Rinoa can still see the glint of the hidden dagger in her mother's hands, still feel the blood of that soldier on her bare feet, hear her mother scream at her to run, smell the smoke of the bonfire as they burned her gifted mother alive while Rinoa wept from the nearby safety of the Mandalia Plains.

It is form her mother that Rinoa had inherited her iron stomach – but she'd never thought those solid nerves would wind up keeping her here, claiming this hovel as her home.

Rinoa was so lost in thought and memory that she didn't notice the man until a broad hand is wrapped around her waist.

"We could use a pretty face at this table." He says, grinning up at her with a wolf's smile. Rinoa steps back, but he holds firm, trying to yank her into his lap.

"I've got work to do." She says as blandly as possible. She has detangled herself from situations like this before – countless times now. It has stopped scaring her long ago.

"You can work on me." says another of the mercenaries, a tall man with a worn-looking blade strapped to his back. Calmly, she pries the first mercenary's fingers off her waist.

"Last call is in forty minutes." She says as pleasantly, stepping back – as far as she can without irritating the men grinning at her like wild dogs. "Can I get you anything else?"

"What are you doing after?" says another.

"Going home to my husband." She lies. But they look at the ring on her finger – the ring that now passes for a wedding band. It had belonged to her mother, and her mother's mother, and all the great women before her, all such brilliant healers, all wiped from living memory.

The men scowl, and taking that as a cue to leave, Rinoa hurries back to the bar. She doesn't warn the boy – doesn't make the trek across the too-big taproom, with all those men waiting like wolves.

Forty minutes. Just another forty minutes until she can kick them all out.

And then she can clean up and tumble into bed, one more day finished in this living hell that had somehow become her future.

* * *

Honestly, Roxas is a little insulted when none of the men in the taproom made a grab for him, his money, his ruby brooch, or his weapons as he stalks between the tables. The bell had just finished ringing for last call, and even though he isn't tired in the slightest, he had enough of waiting for a fight or a conversation or anything to occupy his time.

He supposed he could go back to his room and reread one of the books Riku had brought him. As he prowls past the bar, flipping a silver coin to the dark-haired serving girl, he debates the merits of instead going out into the streets and seeing what adventure finds him.

 _Reckless and stupid_ , Axel would say. But Axel isn't here, and Roxas doesn't know if he will ever wake up again or just forever find recompose in an endless sleep. It is a safe bet Axel will wake up some time far later, and probably not even remember Roxas due to the head trauma. Which is fine. Roxas doesn't deserve to be remembered by someone so incredible and thoughtful and loved. Everything he is not.

Roxas doesn't want to think about it. Axel has become his partner. His lover. Roxas never had the luxury of friends, and never particularly wanted any. But Axel had been a good contender, even if he didn't hesitate to say exactly what he thought about Roxas, or Roxas' plans, or Roxas' abilities.

What would he think of Roxas just rode off into the unknown and never went back to Ivalice, or never even returned to Kingdom Hearts? He might celebrate – especially if it means no more having to run around continent. Especially if it means he can spend the rest of his life with his brother. So once Roxas settles someplace, once he has established a new life as a top assassin in whatever land he made his home, he can ask Axel to join him. And they'd never put up with beatings and humiliations again. Such an easy, inviting idea – such a temptation.

Roxas trudges up the narrow stairs, listening for any thieves or cutthroats that might be waiting. To his disappointment, the upstairs hall is dark and quiet – and empty.

Sighing, he slips into his room and bolts the door. After a moment, Roxas shoves the ancient chest of drawers in front of it, too. Not for his own safety. Oh no. it is for the safety of whatever fool tries to break in – and will then find himself split open from navel to nose just to satisfy a wandering assassin's boredom.

But after pacing for fifteen minutes, Roxas pushes aside the furniture and leaves. Looking for a fight. For an adventure. For anything to take his mind off the bruises on his face and the punishment he had given himself and temptation to shirk his obligations and instead sail to a land far, far away.

Outside, Rinoa lugs the last of the rubbish pails into the misty alley behind the Doguola Inn, her back and arms aching. Today had been longer than most.

There hasn't been a fight, thank the gods, but Rinoa still can't shake her nerves and that sense of something being _off_. But she is glad – so, so glad – there hasn't been a brawl at the Inn. The last thing she wanted to do is spend the rest of the night mopping up blood and vomit of the floor and hauling broken furniture into the alley. After she had rung the last-call bell, the men had finished their drinks, grumbling and laughing, and dispersed with little to no harassment.

Unsurprisingly, her co-worker had vanished with her sailor, and given that the alley is empty, Rinoa can only assume the young woman had gone elsewhere with him. Leaving her, yet again, to clean up.

Rinoa pauses as she dumps the less-disgusting rubbish into a neat pile along the far wall. Is isn't much: stale bread and stew that will be gone by morning, snatched up by the half-feral urchins roaming the streets.

What would her mother say if she knew what had become of her daughter?

Rinoa was only eleven when those soldiers burned her mother for her magic. For the first six and a half years after the horrors of that day, he had lived with her mother's cousin in another village in Galtea, pretending to be an absolutely ungifted distant relative. Is isn't hard to disguises to maintain: her powers truly had vanished. But in those days fear had run rampant, and neighbor turned on neighbor, often selling out anyone formally blessed with the gods' powers to whatever army legion was closest. Thankfully, no one had questioned Rinoa's small presence; and in those long years, no one looked her way as she helped the family farm struggle to return to normal in the wake of Kingdom Heart's forces.

But she'd wanted to be a healer – like her mother and grandmother. She'd started shadowing her mother as soon as she could talk, learning slowly, as all the traditional headers did. And those years on that far, however peaceful (if tedious and dull), hadn't been enough to make her forget eleven years of training, or the urge to follow in her mothers' footsteps. She had even met a young man who she thought would take her away. She can still remember his brown hair, his gleaming golden eyes, the scar that diagonally crosses the bridge of his nose. And that long blade he would always keep strapped to his back. Much of his clothing had so much fur on it, she had gotten into the habit of teasing him for being a Lion.

She hadn't been close to her cousins, despite their charity, and neither party had really tried to bridge the gap caused by distance and fear and war. So no one objected when she took whatever money she'd save dup and walked off the farm a few months before her eighteenth birthday.

She'd set out for Aquila, a city of learning on the northern continent – a realm untouched by Kingdom Hearts and war, where rumor claimed magic still exists. She'd traveled on foot from Galtea, across the mountains into Ordallia, through Zeltennia, eventually winding up at Bervenia – where rumor also claimed one can find a boat to the northern continent, to Romanda. And it if precisely here that she had run out of money.

It is why she had taken the job at the Doguola Inn. First, it had bene temporary, to earn enough to afford the passage to Romanda. But then she'd worried she couldn't have any money when she arrived, and then that she wouldn't have any money to pay for her training at the Nelveska Temple, the great academy of healers and physicians. So she'd stayed, and weeks turned into months. Somehow the dream of sailing away, of attending Nelveska, had been set aside. Especially since her boss increased the rent on her room and the cost of her food and found ways to lower her salary. Especially as that healer's stomach of hers allowed her to endure the indignities and darkness of this place.

Rinoa sighs through her nose. So here she is. A barmaid in a backwater town with hardly two coppers to her name and no future in sight.

There is a crunch of boots on stone, and Rinoa glares down the alley. If her boss caught the urchins eating her food – however stale and disgusting – she'd blame Rinoa. She'd say she wasn't a charity and take the cost out of Rinoa's paycheck. She'd done it one before, and Rinoa had to hunt down the urchins and scold them, make them understand that they had to wait until the middle of the night to get the food she so carefully laid out.

"I told you to wait until it's past –" she starts, but pauses as four figures step from the mist.

Men. The mercenaries from before.

Rinoa is moving for the open doorway in a heartbeat, but they are fast – faster.

One blocks the door while another comes up behind her, grabbing her tight and pulling her against his massive body. "Scream and I'll slit your throat." He whispers in her ear, his breath hot and reeking of ale. "Saw you making some hefty tips tonight, girl. Where are they?"

Rinoa doesn't know what she would have done next: fought or cried or begged or actually tried to scream. But she doesn't have to decide.

The man farthest from them is yanked into the mist with a strangled cry.

The mercenary holding Riona whirls towards him, dragging Rinoa along. There is a ruffle of clothing, then a thump. Then silence.

"Sci?" the man blocking the door calls.

Nothing.

The third mercenary – standing between Riona and the mist – draws his sword. Rinoa doesn't have time to cry out in surprise or warning as a dark figure slips from the mist and grabs him. Not in front, but from the side, as if they'd just _appeared_ out of thin air.

The mercenary throws Rinoa to the ground and draws the sword from across his back, a broad, wicked-looking blade. But his companion doesn't even shout. More silence.

"Come out, you bleedin' coward," the ringleader growls. "Face us like a proper man."

A low, soft laugh.

Rinoa's blood runs cold. Etro protect her.

She knew that laugh – knew the cool, cultured voice that goes with it.

"Just like you proper men surrounded a defenseless girl in an alley?"

With that, Roxas steps from the mist. He has two long daggers in his hands. And both blades are dark with dripping blood.

Gods. Oh, gods.

Rinoa's breath comes quickly as the boy steps closer to the two remaining attackers. The first mercenary barks a laugh, but the one by the door is wide-eyed. Rinoa carefully, so carefully backs away.

"You killed my men?" the mercenary says, blade held aloft.

Roxas flips one of his daggers into a new position. The king of position that Rinoa thought would easily allow the blade to go straight up through the ribs and into the heart. "Let's just say your men got what was coming to them."

The mercenary lunges, but Roxas is waiting. Rinoa knew she should run – run and run and not look back – but the boy is only armed with two daggers, and the mercenary is enormous, and –

It is over before it really starts. The mercenary gets in two hits, both met with those wicked-looking daggers. And then he knocks him out cold with a swift blow to the head. So fast – unspeakably fast and graceful. A wraith moving through the mist.

The mercenary crumples into the fog and out of sight, and Rinoa doesn't listen too hard as the boy follows where the man had fallen.

Rinoa whips her head to the mercenary in the doorway, preparing to shout a warning to her savior. But the man is already sprinting down the alley as fast as his feet can carry him.

Rinoa has half a mind to do that herself when the stranger emerges from the mist, blades clean but still out. Still ready.

"Please don't kill me." Rinoa whispers. She is ready to bed, to offer everything in exchange for her useless, wasted life.

But Roxas just laughs under his breath and says, "What would have bene the point in saving you, then?"

Roxas hadn't meant to save the barmaid. It had bene sheer luck that he'd spotted the four mercenaries creeping about the streets, sheer luck that they seemed as eager for trouble as he was. He had hunted them into that alley, where he found them ready to hurt that girl in unforgivable ways.

The fight was over too quickly to really be enjoyable, or be a balm to Roxas' temper. If you can even call it a fight.

The fourth one had gotten away, but Roxas didn't feel like chasing him, not as the servant girl stands in front of him, shaking from head to toe. Roxas has a feeling that hurling a dagger after the sprinting man would only make the girl start screaming. Or faint. Which would . . . complicate things.

But the girl doesn't scream or faint. She just points a trembling finger at Roxas' arm. "You – you're bleeding."

Roxas frowns down at the little shining spot on his bicep. "I suppose I am."

A careless mistake. The thickness of his suit had stopped it from being a troublesome wound, but he will still have to clean it. It will be healed in a week or less. Roxas makes to turn back to the street, to see what else he can find to amuse him, but the girl speaks again.

"I – I can bind it up for you."

He wants to shake the girl. Shake her for about tem different reasons. The fist, and biggest, is because she is trembling and scared and had been utterly useless. The second is for being stupid enough to _stand_ in that alley in the middle of the night. Roxas doesn't feel lie thinking about all the other reasons – not when he is already angry enough.

"I can bind myself up just fine." Roxas says, heading for the door that leads into the inn's kitchens. Days ago, Roxas had scoped out the inn and its surrounding buildings, and now can navigate them blindfolded.

"Etro knows what was on that blade." The girls says, and Roxas pauses. Invoking the Goddess of Healing very few did that these days – unless they were . . .

"I – my mother was a healer, and she taught me a few things," the girl stammers. "I could – I could . . . Please let me repay the debt I owe you."

"You wouldn't owe me anything if you'd use some common sense."

The girl flinches as though Roxas had struck her. It only annoys Roxas even more. Everything annoys him – this town, this kingdom, this cursed world.

"I'm sorry." The girl says softly.

"What are you apologizing to me for? Why are you apologizing at all? Those men had it coming. But you should have been smarter on a night like this – when I'd bet all my money that you could taste the aggression in that filthy damned taproom."

It isn't the girl's fault, Roxas has to remind himself. Not her fault at all that she didn't know how to fight back.

The girl puts her face in her hands, her shoulders curving inward. Roxas counts down the seconds until the girl bursts into sobs, until she falls apart.

But the tears don't come. The girl just takes a few deep breaths, then lowers her hands. "Let me clean your arm." She says in a voice that is . . . different, somehow. Stronger, clearer. "Or you'll wind up losing it."

And the slight change in the girl is interesting enough that Roxas follows her inside.

He doesn't bother about the three bodies in the alley. He has a feeling no one but the rats and carrion-feeders will care about them in this town.

Rinoa brings the Roxas to her room under the stairs, because she is half-afraid that the mercenary who'd gotten away will be waiting for them upstairs. And Rinoa doesn't want to see any more fighting or killing or bleeding, strong stomach or no.

Not to mention she is also half-afraid to be locked in the suite with the young man.

She leaves the boy sitting on her sagging bed and goes to fetch two bowls of water and some clean bandages – supplies that will be taken out of her paycheck when her boss realizes they are gone. It doesn't matter, though. The boy had saved her life this is the least she can do.

When Rinoa returns, she almost drops the steaming bowls. The boy had removed his hood and cloak and tunic.

Rinoa doesn't know what to remark first:

That the boy is young – perhaps two or three years younger than Riona – but looks and _feels_ old.

That the boy is _incredibly_ beautiful. No, handsome. No . . . There isn't even any words to describe his beauty. Except maybe that he has been blessed by the gods themselves; with golden hair and blue eyes that shine in the candlelight.

Or that the boy's face would have been even more beautiful had it not been covered in a patchwork of bruises. Such horrible bruises, including a black eye that had undoubtedly been swollen shut at some point.

If it weren't for his assuming age of nineteen, as well as the fact that he is a walking killing machine, Rinoa would've let the boy have her right then and there, killer or not.

He is just staring at her, quiet and still as a cat.

It isn't Rinoa's place to ask questions. Especially not when this boy had dispatched three mercenaries in a matter of moments. Even if the gods had abandoned her, Rinoa still believes in them; they are still somewhere, still watching. She believes, because how else would she explain being saved just now? And the thought of being alone – truly alone – is almost too much to bear, even when so much of her life has gone astray.

The water sloshes in the bowls as Rinoa sets them down on the tiny table beside his bed, trying to keep her hands from trembling too much.

He says nothing while Rinoa inspects the cut on his bicep. His arm is thick, and rick-hard with muscle. He has scars everywhere – small ones, big ones. He offer no explanation for them, and it seems to Rinoa that the boy wears his scars the way some women wear their finest jewelry.

Rinoa sets about washing the wound, and Roxas hisses softly. "Sorry." Rinoa says quickly. "I put some herbs in there as an antiseptic. I should have warned you." Rinoa keeps a stash of them with her at all times, along with other herbs and her mother had taught her about. Just in case. Even now, Rinoa can't turn away from a sick beggar in the street, and often walks towards the sound of coughing.

"Believe me, I've been through worse."

"I do." Rinoa says. "Believe you, I mean." Those scars and his mangled face speak volumes. And explain the hood. But is it vanity or self-preservation that makes him wear it? "What's your name?"

"It's none of your concern, and it doesn't matter."

Rinoa bites her tongue. Of course it is none of her business. He hadn't given a name to her boss, either. So he is traveling on some secret business, then. "My name is Rinoa." She offers. "Rinoa Heartilly."

A distant nod. Of course, he doesn't care, either.

Then Roxas says, "What's the daughter of a healer doing in this pieced of shit town?"

No kindness, no pity. Just blunt, if not almost bored, curiosity.

"I was on my way to Romanda to join their healers' academy and ran out of money." She dips the rag into the water, wrings it out, and resumes cleaning the shallow wound. "I got work here to pay for the passage over the ocean, and . . . Well, I never left. I guess staying here became . . . easier. Simpler."

A snort. "This place? It's certainly simple, but easy? I think I'd rather starve in the streets of Romanda than live here."

Riona's face warms. "It – I . . ." she doesn't have an excuse.

Roxas' eyes flash to hers. They are ringed with gold – stunning. Even with the bruises, the boy is alluring. Like wildfire, or a summer storm swept in off the Naldoan Sea.

"Let me give you a bit of advice," Roxas says bitterly. "from one working adolescent to another: Life isn't easy, no matter where you are. You'll make choices you think are right, and then suffer for them." Those remarkable eyes flicker. "So if you're going to be miserable, you might as well go to Romanda and be miserable in the shadows of the Nelveska Temple."

Educated and possibly extremely well-traveled, then, if he knew the healers' academy by name – and he pronounces it perfectly.

Rinoa shrugs, not daring to voice her dozens of questions. Instead, she says. "I don't have the money to go now, anyway."

It comes out sharper than she intended – sharper than was smart, considering how lethal this boy is. Rinoa doesn't try to guess what manner of working boy he might be – mercenary is about as dark as she'd let herself imagine.

"Then steal the money and go. Your boss deserves to have her purse lightened."

Rinoa pulls back. "I'm no thief."

A roguish grin. "If you want something, then go take it."

This boy isn't _like_ wildfire – he _is_ wildfire. Deadly and uncontrollable. And slightly out of his wits.

"More than enough people believe that these days," Rinoa ventures to say. Like Kerwon. Like those mercenaries. "I don't need to be one of them."

Roxas' grin fades. "So you'd rather rot away here with a clean conscious?"

Rinoa doesn't have a reply, so she doesn't say anything as she sets down the rag and bowl and pulls out a small tin of salve. She keeps it for herself, for the nicks and scrapes she gets while working, but this cut is small enough that she can spare a bit. As gently as she can, she smears it onto the wound. Roxas doesn't flinch this time.

After a moment, he asks. "When did you lose your mother?"

"Over eight years ago," Rinoa keeps her focus on the wound.

"That was a hard time to be a gifted healer on this continent, especially in Galtea. The Dark Lord didn't leave much of its people – or royal family – alive."

Rinoa looks up. The wildfire in his eyes have turned into a scorching blue flame. _Such rage_ , she thinks with a shiver. _Such simmering rage_. What had he been through to make it look like that?

She doesn't ask, of course. And she doesn't ask how he knew where she was from. Rinoa understood that her pale skin and black hair were probably enough to mark her as being from Galtea, if her slight accent didn't give her away.

"If you managed to attend the Nelveska Temple," Roxas says, his anger shifting as I he had shoved it down deep inside him, "what would you do afterward?"

Rinoa picks up one of the fresh bandages and begins wrapping it around Roxas' arm. She'd dreamed about it for years, contemplated a thousand different futures while she washed dirty mugs and swept the floors. "I'd come back. Not to here, I mean, but to the continent. Go back to Galtea. There are a . . . a lot of people who need good healers these days."

She says the last part quietly. For all she knew, he might support the long-dead Dark Lord – might report her to the small town guard for just speaking ill of the lord. Rinoa has seen it happen before, far too many times.

But Roxas looks towards the door with its makeshift bolt that Rinoa had constructed, at the closest that she called her bedroom, at the threadbare cloak draped over the half-rotted chair against the opposite wall, then finally back at her. It gives Rinoa a chance to study his face. Seeing how easily he'd trounced those mercenaries, whoever had harmed him must be fearsome indeed.

"You'd really come back to this continent – to the empire?"

There is such quiet surprise in his voice that Rinoa meets his eyes.

"It's the right thing to do." is all Rinoa can think of to say.

Roxas doesn't reply, and Rinoa continues wrapping his arm. .when she finishes, Roxas shrugs on his shirt and tunic, tests his arm, and stands. In the cramped bedroom, Riona feels so much smaller than Roxas, even if there is only a few inches' difference between them.

Roxas picks up his cloak but doesn't don it as he takes a step towards the closed door.

Gods, even his profile is damningly gorgeous. Despite her common sense ringing to her about his age and abilities, she doesn't want this ungodly beautiful creature to leave.

"I could find something for your face." Rinoa blurts.

Roxas pauses with a hand on the doorknob and looks over his shoulder "These are meant to be a reminder."

"For what? Or – to whom?" She shouldn't pry, shouldn't have even asked.

Roxas smiles bitterly. "For me."

Rinoa thinks of the scars she'd seen on his muscled body and wondered if those are all reminders, too.

Roxas turns back to the door, but stops again. "Whether you stay, or go to Romanda and attend the Nelveska Temple and return to save the world," Roxas muses. "you should probably learn a thing or two about defending yourself."

Rinoa eyes the daggers at the boys' waist, the sword he hadn't even needed to draw. Jewels embedded in the hilt – real jewels – glint in the candlelight. The boy had to be fabulously wealthy, richer than Rinoa could ever conceive of being. "I can't afford weapons."

Roxas huffs a laugh. "If you learn these maneuvers, you won't need them."


	11. Chapter 10

Roxas takes Rinoa into the alley, if only because he doesn't want to wake the other inn guests and het into yet another fight. He doesn't really know why he had offered to teach her to defend herself. The last time he had helped anybody, it had just turned around to beat the hell out of him. Literally.

The barmaid – Rinoa – had looked so earnest when she talked about helping people. About being a healer.

The Nelveska Temple – any healers worth their salt knew about the academy in Romanda where the best and brightest, no matter their station, can study. Roxas had once dreamed of dwelling in the fabled cream-colored towers of the temple, of walking the narrow, sloping streets of Romanda and seeing wonders brought in from lands he had never heard of. But that was a lifetime ago. A different person ago.

Not now, certainly. And if Rinoa stayed in this gods-forsaken town, other people were bound to try to attack her again. So here Roxas is, cursing his own conscience for a fool as they stand in the misty ally behind the inn.

The bodies of the three mercenaries are still out there, and Roxas catches Rinoa cringing at the sound of scurrying feet and soft squeaking. The rats hadn't wasted any time.

Roxas grips Rinoa's wrist and holds up her hand. "People – men – usually don't hunt for the women who look like they'll put up a fight. They'll pick you because you look off-guard or vulnerable or like you'd be sympathetic. They'll usually try to move you to another location where they won't need to worry about being interrupted."

Rinoa's eyes are wide, her face pale in the light of the torch Roxas had dropped just outside the back door. Helpless. What is it like to be helpless to defend yourself? A shudder that has nothing to do with the rats gnawing on the dead mercenaries goes through him.

" _Do not_ let them move you to another location." Roxas continues, reciting from the lessons that Lexaeus, his father's right-hand man and Roxas personal kill-for-hire, had once taught him. He'd learned self-defense before he had ever learned to attack anyone, and to first fight without weapons, too.

"Fight back enough to convince them that you're not worth it. And make as much noise as you can. In a shit-hole like this, though, I bet no one will bother coming to help you. But you should still starts screaming your head off about a fire – not rape, not theft, not something that cowards would rather hide from. And if shouting doesn't discourage them, then there are a few tricks to outsmart them.

"Some might make then drop like a stone, some might get them down temporarily, but as soon as they let go of you, your _biggest_ priority is getting the hell away. You understand? They let you go, you _run_."

Rinoa nods, still wide-eyed. She remains that way as Roxas takes the hand he'd lifted and walks her through the eye-gouge, showing her how to shove her thumbs into the corner of someone's eyes, crook her thumbs behind the eyeballs, and – well, Roxas can't actually finish that part, since he likes his own eyeballs very much. But Rinoa grasps it after a few times, and does it perfectly when Roxas grabs her from behind again and again.

He then shows her the ear clap, then how to pinch the inside of a man's upper thigh hard enough to make him scream, where to stomp on the most delicate parts of the foot, what soft spots are the best to his with her elbow (Rinoa actually hit Roxas so hard in the throat that Roxas gags for a good minute). And then tells her to go for the groin – always try to go for a strike to the groin.

And when the moon is setting, when Roxas is convinced that Rinoa might stand a chance against an assailant, they finally stop. Rinoa seems to be holding herself a bit taller, her face flushed.

"If they come after you for money," Roxas says, jerking his chin towards where the mercenaries lay in a heap, "throw whatever coins you have far away from you and run in the opposite direction. Usually they'll so occupied by chasing after your money that you'll have a chance to escape."

Rinoa nods. "I should – I should teach this to Jessa."

Roxas doesn't know or care who Jessa is, but he says, "If you get the chance, teach it to any female who will take the time to listen."

Silence falls between them. There is so much more to learn, so much else to teach her. But dawn is about two hours away, and he should probably go back to his room now, if only to pack and go. Go, because he is ordered to or because he finds his punishment acceptable, but . . . because he needs to. He needs to go back to Lesalia.

Even if it is only to resume the multitude of failed days of him trying to shift. Staying, running away to another land, avoiding his fate . . . he won't do that. He can't be like Rinoa, a living reminder of loss and shoved-aside dreams. No, he will continue to train with Reno and follow this path, wherever it leads, however much it stings his pride.

Rinoa clears her throat. "Did you – did you ever have to use these maneuvers? Not to pry. I mean, you don't have to answer if –"

"I've used them, yes – but not because I was in that kind of situation. I . . ." Roxas knew he shouldn't say this, but he does. "I'm usually the one who does the hunting."

Rinoa, to his surprise, just nods, if a bit sadly. There is such irony, he realizes, in them working together – the assassin and the healer. Two opposite sides of the coin.

Rinoa wraps her arms around herself. "How can I ever repay you for –"

But Roxas holds up a hand. The alley is empty, but he can feel them, can hear the shift in the fog, in the scurrying of the rats. Pockets of quiet.

He meets Rinoa's stare and flicks his eyes towards the back door, a silent command. Rinoa has gone white and stiff. It is one thing to practice, but to put lessons into action, to use them . . . Rinoa is more of a liability. Roxas jerks his chin at the door, and order now.

There are at least five men – two on either end of the ally converging upon them, and one more standing guard by the busier end of the street.

Rinoa is through the back door by the time Roxas draws his sword.

In the darkened kitchen, Rinoa leans against the back door, a hand on her hammering heart as she listens to the melee outside. Earlier, the boy had the element of surprise – but how can he face them again?

Her hands tremble at the sound of clashing blades and shouts filtered through the crack beneath the door. Thumps, grunts, growls. What is happening?

She can't stand it, not knowing what is happening to the boy.

It goes against every instinct to open up the back door and peer out.

Her breath catches in her throat at the sight:

The mercenary who had escaped earlier had returned with more friends – more skilled friends. Two are facedown on the cobblestones, pools of blood around them. But the remaining three are engaged with the boy who is – is –

Gods, he moves like a black wind, such lethal grace, and –

A hand closes over Rinoa's mouth as someone grabs her from behind and presses something cold and sharp against her throat. There has been another man; he came in through the inn.

"Walk." He breathes in her ear, his voice rough and foreign. She couldn't see him, couldn't tell anything about him beyond the hardness of his body, the reek of his clothes, the scratch of a heavy beard against her cheek. He flings open the door and, still holding the dagger to Rinoa's neck, strode into the alley.

Roxas stops fighting. Another mercenary has gone down, and the two before him have their blades pointed at him.

"Drop your weapons," the man says. Rinoa would have shaken her head, but the dagger is pressed so close that any movement she makes will have slit her own throat.

Roxas eyes the men, then Rinoa's captor, then Rinoa herself. Calm – utterly calm and cold as he bares his teeth in a feral grin. "Come and get them."

Rinoa's stomach drops. The man has only to shift his wrist and he'd spill her life's blood. She isn't ready to die – not now, not in Bervenia.

Her captor chuckles. "Bold and foolish, boy." He pushes the blade harder, and Rinoa winces. She feels the dampness of her blood before she realizes he'd cut a thin line across her neck. Etro save her.

But Roxas' eyes are on Rinoa, and they narrow slightly. In challenge, in a command. _Fight back_ , he seems to say. _Fight for your miserable life._

The two men with the swords circle closer, but Roxas doesn't lower his blade.

"Drop your weapons before I cur her open." Rinoa's captor growls. "Once we're done making you pay for our comrades, for all the money you cost us with your deaths, maybe we'll let her live." He squeezes Rinoa tighter, but the young man just watches him. The mercenary hisses. " _Drop your weapons_."

He doesn't.

Gods, he is going to let him kill her, wasn't he?

Rinoa can't die like this – not here, not as a no-name barmaid in this horrible place. _Wouldn't_ die like this. Her mother had gone down swinging – her mother had _fought_ for her, had killed that soldier so Rinoa can have a chance to flee, to make something of her life. To do something good for the world.

She won't die like this.

The rage hits her, so staggering that Rinoa can hardly see through it, can hardly see anything except a year in Bervenia, a future beyond her grasp, and a life she is not ready to part with.

She gives no warning before stomping down as hard as she could on the bridge of the man's foot. He jerks, howling, but Rinoa brings up her arms, shoving her dagger from her throat with one hand as she drives her elbow into his gut. Drives it with every bit of rage she has burning in her. He groans as he doubles over, and she slams her elbow into his temple, just as Roxas had shown her.

The man collapses to his knees, and Rinoa bolts. To run, to help, she doesn't know.

But Roxas is already standing in front of her, grinning broadly. Behind him, the two men lie unmoving. And the man on his knees –

Rinoa dodges aside as the young man grabs the grasping man and drags him into the dark mist beyond. There is a muffled scream, then a thump.

And despite her healer's blood, despite the stomach she'd inherited, Rinoa barely makes it two steps before she vomits.

When she is done, she finds the young man watching her again, smiling faintly. "Fast learner." He says. His fine clothes, even his darkly glittering ruby brooch, are covered in blood. Not his own, Rinoa noted with some relief. "You sure you want to be a healer?"

Rinoa wipes her mouth on the corner of her apron. She doesn't want to know what the alternative was – what this boy might be. No, all she wants is to smack him. Hard.

"You could have dispatched them without me! But you let that man hold a knife to my throat – you _let him_! Are you insane?

Roxas smiles in such a way that says yes, he is most certainly insane. But he says, "Those men were a joke. I wanted you to get some real experience in a controlled environment."

"You call that _controlled_?" Rinoa can't help shouting. She puts a hand to the already clotted slice in her neck. It will heal quickly, but might scar. She'd have to inspect it immediately.

"Look at it this way, Rinoa Heartilly: now you know you can do it. That man was twice your weight and had almost a foot on you, and you downed him in a few heartbeats."

"You said those men were a joke."

A fiendish grin. "To me, they are."

Rinoa's blood chills. "I – I've had enough for today. I think I need to go to bed."

The boy sketches a bow. "And I should probably be on my way. Word of advice: wash the blood out of your clothes and don't tell anyone what you saw tonight. Those men have more friends, and as far as I'm concerned, they are the unfortunate victims of a horrible robbery." He holds up a leather pouch with coins and stalks past Rinoa into the inn.

Rinoa spares a glance at the bodies, feels a heavy weight drop into her stomach and follows the boy inside. She is still furious with him, still shaking with the remnants of terror and desperation.

So she doesn't say good-bye to the deadly boy as he vanishes.

Rinoa did as the boy said and changed into another gown and apron before going to the kitchens to wash the blood from her clothes. Her hands are shaking so badly that it takes longer than usual to wash the clothing, and by the rime she finishes, the pale light of dawn is creeping through the kitchen window.

She had to be up in . . . well, now. Groaning, she trudges back to her room to hand her wet clothes to dry if someone saw her laundry drying, it will only raise suspicion. She suppose she'd have to be the one to pretend to find the bodies, too. Gods, what a mess.

Wincing at the thought of the long, long, day ahead of her, trying to make sense of the night she'd just had, Rinoa enters her room and softly shuts the door. Even if she told someone, they probably wouldn't believe her.

It isn't until she is done hanging her clothes on the hooks embedded in the wall that she notices the leather pouch on the bed, and the note pinned beneath it.

She knew what was inside, can easily guess based on the lumps and edges. Her breath catches in her throat as she pulls out the note,

There, in elegant, feminine handwriting, the boy had written:

 _For wherever you need to go – and then some. The world needs more healers_.

No name, no date. Staring at the paper, she can almost picture the beautiful boy's feral smile and the defiance in his eyes. This note, if anything, is a challenge – a dare.

Hands shaking anew, Rinoa dumps out the contents of the pouch.

The pile of gold coins shimmers, and Rinoa staggers back, collapsing into the rickety chair across from the bed. She blinks, and blinks again.

Not just gold, but also the brooch the boy had been wearing, its massive ruby smoldering in the candlelight.

A hand on her mouth, Rinoa stares at the door, at the ceiling, then back at the small fortune sitting on her bed. Stares and stares and stares.

The gods have vanished, her mother had once claimed. But had they? Had it been some god who had visited tonight, clothed in the skin of a batter young man? His beauty would certainly say so. Or had it merely been their distant whispers that prompted the stranger to walk down that alley? She would never know, she supposes. And maybe that is the whole point.

 _Wherever you need to go_ . . .

Gods or fate or just pure coincidence and kindness, it is a gift. This is a gift. The world is wide-open – wide-open and hers for the taking, if she dared. She could go to Romanda, attend the Nelveska Temple, go anywhere she wishes.

If she dares.

Rinoa smiles.

But then as she's gathering the coin back into the purse, she notices something written on the back of the note as well, along with another folded piece of paper on the back of the note. In more of the young man's delicate handwriting, it reads:

 _By the way, he goes by Leon, now_.

Puzzled, Rinoa carefully detaches the folded piece of paper from the note. It's folded into threes, and as she slowly unfolds it, she almost yelps in surprise. She claps her hand back over her mouth and tries to control her breathing.

There on the beautiful piece of parchment, is a realistic sketch of the man she had fallen in love with. The man she couldn't bring herself to follow. The man she had thought had perished from hardships.

The sketch is only from the head to the shoulders, but has _everything_ : from the scar on his face, to the delicate lining of his hair as it falls around his face. To the usual scowl he wears as she always caught him brooding. The fur of his leather jacket is fluffed and she can see the handle of the long blade weapon he always keeps strapped to his back. In the background, there's the faint sketching of a clock tower and other square buildings in the background.

Rinoa nearly faints from how lightheaded she feels. That clock tower, she knows that clock tower.

It's from Twilight Town.

This is his way of telling her where to go, if she was smart enough. But how did . . . how did he, of all people, know about her love?

How –?

But this shouldn't be too hard. Once she has finished her studies, she would travel to Twilight Town and search for her Leon, and with the picture, at least she'll have something to show everyone.

But then she realizes.

The only well-known Leon was the Guild Master of the Lions . . . in Twilight Town.

But could that be. . . The _Lions_.

How else would that boy know . . .?

A strangled cry comes out of Rinoa. She has to brace a hand to the chair. No, it couldn't be.

The Lion Guild is connected to the Shadow Guild, what was once the most feared Assassin's Guild in Twilight Town, in Kingdom Hearts.

And that boy; he wouldn't know unless . . .

Suddenly her mind is reeling with all of the poems and texts and stories and tales that have been passed through different people of different lands who have dared encountered the boy who was said to be walking Death. But the one she remembers is the word of a song sung by a bard on one stormy night at the Inn.

 _The Heir of Cloud Skyes,_

 _He walks with the shadows, he commands the darkness._

 _Even with nights where the moon is full, none shall rest._

 _A curse by the gods to fill their halls,_

 _Men, women, children, he will kill them all._

She can see those wicked daggers dripping with blood. The fire in his eyes as he easily dismembered those mercenaries. The ebony cloak that flowed and billowed in the wind.

 _He is able to charm, but do not be fooled,_

 _He is deceitful. He is ruthless. He is cold,_

 _With his fairest eyes of legends old,_

 _Brightest eyes, ringed with gold_.

Brightest blue, ringed with gold. Rinoa claps her hand tighter, suddenly gasping for breath in the little space of her room. How she had been so easily encaptivated by those eyes. How she had stupidly wondered why he wore a dark cloak and hood over his face. That one bit of proof he couldn't hide from anyone.

That mysterious boy.

Her savior.

Her . . . _friend_?

The mysterious, beautiful boy that had saved her was Roxas Skyes; heir to the dark empire of his father's Assassin's Guild, and rightfully titled King of the Underworld.

Kingdom Heart's most feared assassin had been her savior tonight. He had completely obliterated the songs and stories told of him. He could have easily slit her throat, but instead, he had saved her. He _taught_ her how to fight.

A shudder runs through Rinoa as she goes over the events of that night. How she had touched him, healed him, how they had an actual conversation. How she is probably the only person in the world who has faced death, looked it straight in those gorgeous eyes, and lived.

Her savior had been Roxas Skyes.

Rinoa sinks to her knees.

An hour later, no one stops Rinoa Heartilly as she walks out of the Dogoula Inn and never looks back. A confident smile on her lips.

* * *

Washed and dressed in a new tunic, Roxas boards the carriage an hour before dawn. Inside he finds Riku sitting cross-legged with a smirk on his face, but Roxas can see the seriousness in his eyes. Unfortunately, Roxas can't bring himself to speak much or rather care to interrogate Riku about the information he had better have found last night.

Instead, Roxas comes in, mask and cloak and all and simply plops down in the cushioned seat across from Riku.

"Good to see you too." Riku says. Roxas merely shakes his head.

It's his own damn fault he feels hollow and light-headed after a night without rest. But he can sleep today – sleep the whole ride back to Lesalia. He _should_ sleep, because with his hunger just barely quenched, it's enough to have Roxas feel a bit smarter than before.

With the hood and blades, he knew no one will bother him. And while he now has to be careful with the money he has left, he knew he'd hand over another silver or two before the voyage ends.

Sighing, Roxas snuggles himself into the seat, peering out the window setting his elbow on the arm rest and looking out onto the dawn-grey bay. He's seen enough of Bervenia; he doesn't need to bother watching the departure.

He had been on his way out of the inn when he had passed that horrifically small closet Rinoa called a bedroom. While Rinoa had tended to his arm, Roxas had been astounded by the cramped conditions, the rickety furniture, the too-thin blankets. He had planned to leave some coins for Rinoa anyway – if only because he was certain the innkeeper would make Rinoa pay for those bandages.

But Roxas had stood in front of that wooden door to the bedroom, listening to Rinoa wash her clothes in the nearby kitchen. He found himself unable to turn away, unable to stop thinking about the would-be healer with the raven-black hair and gleaming grey eyes, of what Rinoa had lost and how helpless she had become. There are so many of them now – the children who had lost everything the blood and cruelty of the world. Children who have now grown into assassins and barmaids, without a true place to call home, their native kingdom left in ruins and ash.

Magic has been gone all these years. And the gods are dead, or simply don't care anymore. Yet there, deep in Roxas' gut, was a small but insistent _tug_. A tug on a strand of some invisible web. So Roxas decided to tug back, just to see how far and wide the reverberations would go.

It was a matter of moments to write the note and then stuff most of his gold coins into the pouch. The picture he had drawn while he was trapped in his room with nothing to do. A heartbeat later, he'd set it all on Rinoa's sagging cot.

He had added his father's ruby brooch as a parting thought. He wondered if a girl from ravaged Fovoham wouldn't mind a brooch in Twilight Town's royal colors. But Roxas was glad to be rid of it, and hoped Rinoa would pawn the piece for the small fortune it was worth.

Hoped that an assassin's jewel would pay for a healer's education.

So maybe it was the gods at work. Maybe it was some force beyond them, beyond mortal comprehension. Or maybe it was just for what and who Roxas would never be.

Rinoa was still washing her bloodied clothes in the kitchen when Roxas slipped out of her room, then down the hall, and left the Doguola Inn behind.

A flicker of steel reminds Roxas he is not alone in the carriage. As he watches Riku open up a fair-sized book and set a piece of paper in one page, he asks the most obvious thing an assassin could ever say, "So when do I get to kill someone?"

Despite the lack of emotion in Roxas' tone, Riku chuckles with a smile and shakes his head. "Patience, Roxas. There's apparently more to this job that either of us thought."

"How so?" Roxas says as he turns his head away from the widow as he hears the snap of reins and the carriage starts to depart from the inn and onto the main road.

"We need to speak with Reno about it." Riku says, his face and tone serious.

"Why?"

"I told you, patience, Roxas. This involves a lot more than just jar-head mercenaries smuggling illegal substances."

Roxas groans, rolling his eyes as he leans back into his seat, returning to the window.

As the carriage stalks through the foggy streets towards the city gates, Roxas prays Rinoa Heartilly wasn't foolish enough to tell anyone – especially the innkeeper – about the money. Prays that Rinoa Heartilly seizes her life with both hands and sets out for the pale-stoned city of Romanda. Prays that somehow, years from now, Rinoa Heartilly will return to this continent, and maybe heal their shattered world bit by bit. And maybe, just maybe, be reunited with Leon.

It had taken everything Roxas had not to seize Rinoa and hug her endlessly when she had spoken her name. Roxas had immediately remembered the story of how Leon had told Roxas about how he had lost his love while training.

They had met in Hollow Bastion, Leon's hometown before he moved to Twilight Town, and it was instant love at first sight, he had claimed. She was visiting in from Fovoham, her mother taking her on a trip to the market to gather herbs that could only be found in Kingdom Hearts. Leon was fifteen at the time, and Rinoa a year younger than him.

Every day was spent with the two of them meeting in the marketplace, each exchanging tales, skills, traits, family stories. And then when the Dark Lord Xehanort had sent out his troops to slaughter all of those who had possessed magic, Leon had said the last time he had seen Rinoa was when her town house had been set on fire. He assumed the worst.

With his own mother bloodily beheaded, his father's innards spilt onto the cobblestones of the streets, Leon was left with nothing. Then he joined the Cloud's Guilds, working his way up to Master and earning endless amounts of coin.

Hopefully Rinoa was smart enough to figure out the hidden clue Roxas had left in his drawing of Leon.

She will. She's a smart woman.

Smiling to himself as he leans his head against the glass window, Roxas nestles into his seat and crossing his ankles.

"So, on a much lighter note," Riku breathes as he sets the book into his leather satchel. "How was your night? Did you make any new friends while I was gone?"

Rinoa is a smart woman. So that means she will make the connections, easily. And she will either love or despise Roxas. He's had experiences on both ends, but the thought still makes his heart heavy.

His smile faltering, Roxas pulls his hood low over his eyes.

"No, I don't think I did."

By the time the carriage is out past the city walls with the jade-green gulf gleaming in the sunlight, the assassin is fast asleep.


	12. Chapter 11

Reeve Tuesti stares at his king unblinkingly, waiting for him to speak. Seated on his golden throne, the King of Ivalice leans one cheek against his hand. His wife has yet again left the castle to travel to the Royal City Valrain to the orphanage.

"I presume you're bothering me for good reason?" Sephiroth asks. His voice is hard, edged with the clash of shields and the scream of arrows. As far as greetings go, that is probably the kindest one his advisor will get. Sephiroth was never much fond of his advisor, especially after he had begun to practically do the King's job while he thought the King wasn't aware. Once Sephiroth had caught him, he ordered to have him lashed until he collapsed in a deep puddle of his own blood, Reeve had never bothered to even come close to the throne again.

On either side of his throne are two of his most trusted guards, the Twins Cecil and Kain. For the years he has been on the throne, the twins have been silent, deadly presences, men who had barely tolerated Reeve since the beginning, and had always made it clear that if he became a threat to the King, they'd kill him. During the nights, when they patrolled the city, their animal forms of a silver and ebony wolves made them blend in with the wild dogs of the kingdom.

"I've simply come to unfortunately bring up the matter of your wife's disability to conceive." Reeve says as calmly as he could. This was always a conversation that stirred the King's emotions – as each and every one of his ideas have been denied by the royal court. And its irking topic immediately draws out the aggravation in the king.

"At this rate, it would be better just to hire some random assassin to simply surpass my throne, seeing to that everyone is so much against us adopting and giving a child the home that they deserve." Reeve straightens as the king continues. "The idea of taking the throne would make them not to pose a problem in fear of revocation."

"You Majesty, you think like every fool an assassin murders. For assassins and the children of bastards and bitches are no different." Reeve says with a respectable bow. King Sephiroth says nothing, and Reeve continues, his heart racing. "Assassins owe allegiance to none but themselves; as do those children. You are not their real father, so even if you give them a home, they can easily distant themselves. Both are creatures of manipulation, and will not balk at putting a knife through your heart."

"You say that because you're afraid of losing good coin." King Sephiroth shakes his head. He sighs into his fingers, his eyes growing vacant.

"They are dangerous, Your Highness. They want one thing and one thing only – don't think they won't use you to get it. Ig you court them, the consequences will not be pleasant." Reeve says. "You would be better off picking and heir forged in blood and iron on the battlefield."

"If you don't mind your tongue, I'll use you for practice." Kain suddenly snarls.

"Brother, please." Cecil says calmly with a side-glance to his sibling.

King Sephiroth rises from his throne and points at the map painted on the far wall of his council chamber. "I am the ruler of this continent, and soon to be the ruler of _all_ of Ivalice. You will not question me."

Reeve, realizing how close he is to crossing boundary between impertinence and rebellion – a boundary that he been very, very careful to maintain – mumbles his apologies.

"At least give me granted respect for not misbehaving myself among the peasant women. Even I do not want some woman banging on the gate, wailing that I've broken her heart." The king says.

"I never did, your Highness. You've toiled too hard and lone to establish your empire; and will not, _shall_ not, complicate it with illegitimate heirs." says Reeve.

Sephiroth takes note of how Kain places his hand on the hilt of his sword. Cecil swallowing while he has his arms folded.

Still, King Sephiroth give his advisor a poisonous smile. "My silver-tongued advisor. You speak as if _you_ rule over this continent. But I am the king, and I am keeping each continent independent even if under my shadow. I wish no such domination over them."

"And it is that kind of thinking that will have those rebels mounting your head on a pike before the gates of the Capital City."

"Perhaps alongside my illegitimate heirs, if I'm so fortunate." The king counters.

Reeve says nothing, as he can easily predict what it is the King's thoughts drift towards. Then, the king says. "My brother would have been so much better at this."

"Your Majesty . . ." Reeve says softly.

It's no secret that King Sephiroth was the younger of him and his former sibling. His name lost long ago; forgotten out of a severe grief-stricken sibling. He and the king were inseparable. Sephiroth never intended to take the throne; not so soon after the slaughter of the Mer (the collective term for Elvenkind or Elves. This terminology separating them from the usual expression of Fae – giving title to goblins, fairies, gnomes and trolls). And while his brother hadn't obtained the features to display his Elven heritage, his dazzling looks were enough for citizens to deem them as siblings.

Even now nearing nineteen years later, the king still regrets of what he could've done to save his brother.

And his brother's child.

During the slaughter of the Mer after Kingdom Heart's forces, led by the brutal Dark Lord, Sephiroth had been staying at the castle while his brother and his wife had rode off to The Orient to their summer home. It was when word had gotten round that the house was attacked, Sephiroth had intended to set out immediately to retrieve his brother and nephew.

But then they had gotten the report.

Sephiroth hadn't spoken the words – _he is dead_ – since they day his brother had bene taken from him. But he _is_ dead. And Sephiroth missed him.

They had managed to drive out the Dark Lord's forces, but at what cost? The damage was done. The death count climbing with every corpse discovered under rubble, brick and more bloodied bodies.

Sephiroth had been called many things: Wolf, general, prince, savior and avenger. And he was all of those things, and more. Leader, thinker, and trickster were his particular favorites – the titles only those closest to him knew.

Ivalice's God, that's what the ones who didn't know him called him. It was true – in so many ways, it is true, and he had never minded it, not really. It had allowed him to maintain control in the North, to keep the bloodshed down to a minimum. Half of his army were refugees looking for justice, the other half sympathizers, so many of their battles in the North had been one for the ages and a bloodbath – at least, once the body count of the killing fields was in and minorities belonged to Ivalice. Ivalice's God. He had not minded. Until that day.

Brother, Uncle – those had been his most beloved titles. Uncle, kin, protector. Those were the secret names he harbored deep within, the names he whispered to himself when the northern wind was shrieking through the Deadlands. Sometimes the wind sounded like the screams of his people being led to the butchering block. And sometimes it sounded like his nephew – his nephew whom he had loved, who should have been his King, and to whom he would have one day sworn the blood oath.

Neither Sephiroth nor his brother had been eager to obtain the throne, but with his brother being the eldest, he was destined to; and had already blessed the family with an heir. The son of two kings.

Gods, for such a young child to be destined for the butchering block.

And then Reeve says, "The child wouldn't have been able to handle the pressure."

Sephiroth is upon him before Reeve can brace himself. The back of the king's hand connects with Reeve's cheek, and the advisor staggers, but regains his countenance. His face throbs, stinging so badly he fights to keep his eyes from watering. " _You will_ not _, speak of my nephew that way; whether he is dead or alive_." The king snarls. "I am still your king. You will obey me, Reeve Tuesti, or you will pay. I'll have no more of your questioning."

Knowing he'd only cause more trouble for himself if he stayed, the advisor bow silently and leaves his king.

Sephiroth doesn't return to his throne, instead, he excuses Cecil and Kain, how bare no argument, but simply bow and leave the throne room, shutting the massive marble doors behind them.

Sephiroth rubs his chin as he wanders over to the right wall, which is dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows of which evolve into double glass doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the wide, green plains of Valendia.

He sets his sword on the granite railing and runs his scarred fingers down it, taking in the nicks and lines, each mark a tale of legendary battles fought, of great kings long dead. The sword is the last shred of proof that a mighty kingdom had once existed in the North.

It isn't his sword, not really. In those initial days of blood and conquest, the Dark Lord had snatched the blade from his brother's cooling body and brought it back to Kingdom Hearts. And there is had stayed, the sword that should have been his nephew's.

So Sephiroth had fought for years in those battlefields, fought to prove his power of regaining of the continent of Ivalice, and had taken the sword back as a boon for his services.

Even though he'd been thirteen, and even though he'd been forty miles away in the Greylands when his brother and nephew had been killed on the country estate, he should have stopped it. They had been sent to the land of Valendia upon their mother's death to become his nephew's sword and shield, to serve in the court he was supposed to have ruled, that child of kings. So he should have ridden out when the castle erupted with news that his Gainsborough brother had been assassinated. By the time anyone did, his brother, his sister-in-law, and his nephew were dead.

The sword is the reminder he carries with him on his back, the reminder of who the sword belonged to, and to whom, when he took his last breath and went to the Otherworld, he's finally give it.

The world had slipped from beneath his feet.

His nephew should have been king. This should be his sword, his throne, his kingdom.

Sometimes Sephiroth forgets how little he looks like his brother – it is he who takes after their father with his broad frame and his round, sharp-eyes, and pointed ears that give hints of his Elven heritage. But his brother, tall, toned, and elegant, bore no resemblance to him. With their parents crossbreeding, only Sephiroth had obtained the Elven traits. But then there was the matter of his brother's sapphire eyes – not even their mother had his eyes. No one knew where they came from.

He doesn't want to recall how he had so severely failed to protect his brother and nephew. Wanted to pretend he wasn't starting to forget what his brother had looked like.

He was forgetting what they looked like. The shade of their eyes, the curve of their lips, the smell of them. Their laugh. The roaring in Sephiroth's head goes quiet, silenced by that familiar nothingness.

Sephiroth doesn't know how to stop it. The one person he could have told, who might have understood . . . he was slaughtered like an animal, and buried in an unadorned grave, so far from the sun-warmed soil that he had loved.

Drops plunk on his white-gloved hand, his silver hair spilling over his shoulder. Looking up out to the city, King Sephiroth feels warmth run down his cheeks. He inhales through his mouth, but it rattles its way in.

His heir would have bene his nephew. And his nephew would have been the greatest king of all. Slowly the king lifts his nose to the sky, his lips part and he feels them brush against his sharpened canines.

He feels his voice rise up through his throat and he starts to sing a song more widely known as the Anthem of the Angels. The moment is odd, his voice cracking, but his grief fuels his voice and pours out, singing in smooth tones of crescendo and lisp of notes.

All the while, he imagines the world that would have been if Ivalice had a different king.

* * *

Once the carriage had pulled into the province of Lesalia, it was the large bump in the road that had awoken Roxas from his peaceful sleep. He made the driver stop just past the stables, and from there, Roxas and Riku simply walked their way up the roads and towards the brick mansion; Roxas nearly sobbing with joy as he beheld the members still walking about the property and just picturing the massive clean and sweet-smelling bathroom with a steaming hot bath that awaits him.

The barking of Artemis started the moment Roxas' toe touches the cobblestone driveway. The heads turn and smiles come upon lips. If his calculations are right, it had taken them at least a day to and from Bervenia, then with the two days they had spent in the inn, Roxas was gone for a total of four days, an extra one if he takes into consideration the day he had spent picking fights at the taverns he could find from their stops.

Artemis's barking grows more excited as Roxas passes the ornate stone fountain at the center of the driveway, and Roxas finds Luxord and Zack smiling and giving Roxas claps on the shoulder and pats on the back as he removes his hood and unties his mask.

His black eye has nearly healed itself, and his arm is nearly recovered but concealed beneath his tunic. The quick patter of feet draws Roxas' attention to the open front door as Sora comes running down the hall from the kitchen, a small towel tossed over his shoulder and his short-sleeved grey tunic speckled with spots of flour.

"Roxas!" he calls, and Roxas smiles as Sora launches himself into the assassin's arms. Roxas stifles the stab of pain in his arm at the collision, and easily returns Sora's hug. As quick as Sora had hugged him, he releases. "Oh gods, you smell atrocious."

Roxas playfully slaps Sora's arm. "When being locked in the lowest of the low tavern in Bervenia, one tends to not have as much access to cologne or baths."

Sora chuckles as he helps Roxas discard his cloak. And Roxas just knew that Sora's eyes are more excited to see Roxas come home with little to no blood staining his clothes. But if only he knew.

"I'll prep a bath for you and –"

"No, no I've got it." Roxas instantly denies. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?" Sora asks. "It was a long journey."

"I'll be fine." Roxas says with a waving of his gloved hands. "You just worry about making me those double chocolate cookies, and hazelnut truffles." Roxas sets his hands on Sora's shoulders and turns the boy back towards the kitchen and gives him a slight push, but he leans in and says. "And some milk." Before gently pushing Sora forward.

The spikey-haired boy simply chuckles and waves his hand, but turns and calls. "I'll be up in a second with some fresh clothes."

Roxas smiles and as he mounts the steps, his smile widens as he finds Vanitas coming down the opposite staircase, dressed handsomely but casually in a simple loose-fitting, beige tunic and dark pants. He lifts his head and finds Roxas instantly.

The blonde assassin couldn't stop his feet as they increase their speed, skipping the steps by two until he is in Vanitas' arms, feeling his chuckle reverberate through the bones of his face. "Good to see you too." Vanitas continues to chuckle. "Nice to know you didn't kill Riku along the way."

"No, but you should've seen the bar fights he had gotten into along the trip." Riku says as he follows up the stairs. Roxas glares but Riku smirks as he continues on. "Arguably not much happened but I had to condemn him to the inn so that I could avoid any more unconscious bodies while investigating."

"Really, Roxas?"

It takes everything Roxas has not to punch Riku below the belt. "I was bored." He says.

Vanitas sighs, and rolls his eyes. He understood what Roxas had meant. Still, he pets Roxas' head and smiles. "Your temper always did have its fluctuations." He still chuckles as Roxas pushes his hand away. "So, did you guys find anything good?"

"More than we expected." Riku says.

"What do you mean?" Vanitas asks.

"I'll explain in a minute, but for now, I'd like to take a bath and wash away the grime of the Bervenia city." Riku says.

"Speak for yourself." Roxas grumbles, and this time, Riku raises his eyebrows as he had to suffer through Roxas' horrid stench through the entire carriage ride. Of which he wordlessly wore his mask for most of the ride.

"Alright, you two get clean and we'll meet back in the living room." Vanitas says.

"Wait, where's Reno?" Roxas asks.

"He stepped out to go into town, but he'll be back by dinner."

Roxas nods and excuses himself before Vanitas has the chance to ask why Roxas was curious. Thankfully, Riku takes over the conversation as Roxas mounts the steps towards his room.

Still, Roxas had a feeling he would see Vanitas and or Sora later in his rooms once he had gotten comfortable.

After a joyous Artemis calms down enough for Roxas to speak without being licked, sure enough Vanitas comes in moments later and squeezes every last detail from Roxas; though Roxas only told him about the bar fights he had gotten into, and Vanitas leaves him with the promise to return for dinner in a few hours. And after Sora had come in and Roxas letting him fuss over him in the bath and bemoan the state of his hair and hands, Roxas collapses into bed.

Artemis leaps up beside him, curling in close to his side. Stroking the dog's silky golden coat, Roxas stares up at the ceiling, the exhaustion seeping out of his sore muscles.

He didn't tell Vanitas about how he had saved and helped the barmaid Rinoa. That was just something that Roxas wanted to keep for himself. Apart from not wanting the looks of pride and sentiment from the other members, Roxas just wanted to tuck this story away in his heart. To keep it there as a reminder of what he had done for her.

Granted he did _desperately_ wanted to write to Leon about it, and that he really wasn't in his right wits during their time together, but it was still something good. Something that he hadn't failed at.

He still remembers how his heart had stopped when Rinoa had told him her name, and then seeing her held by that mercenary with a dagger to her neck. For a moment, Roxas had flashed back to seeing Ventus and Demyx and how they had died in a similar way. And he feared for a moment that he would fail once again, and Rinoa's blood would spill onto the floor. More blood on his hands.

But even if she seem upset with him, she did pick up on his stare, of his challenge. And it was thanks to her bravery that Roxas had managed to protect her. Truly she did save herself, Roxas just finished up the fight. Still, he smiles as he thinks back to Rinoa taking down that mercenary.

His mind keeps thinking of words that he could write to Leon in a letter, but still doubts keep seeping into his mind, preventing him from sitting at his desk and picking up the pen. First, of is that Leon won't even believe him if Roxas just wrote to him that he had found his long-lost love. Second is that if Roxas had told Leon what he had done with Rinoa and what he had discovered her being after all of these years, well, really he doesn't know what Leon would do, and frankly that's the only thing keeping Roxas from telling him.

If Leon decides to go on a killing rampage like Roxas did, Roxas wants to at least be there to stop him. Because even with his father and other Guild Masters there, Leon is his own leader, and he can and will enforce his own decisions. At least with Roxas there he'd feel a small spot for him given everything Roxas has been through.

He rolls over to bury his face in Artemis's soft coat. Snuggling into the soft fur, Roxas feels a waft of the freshening detergent of his newly white tunic. Lifting his hand, Roxas glances at the gold band on his finger. It glints in the morning light, the engraving words: I Love You wink at him.

Despite the fluffiness of the mattress beckoning him to stay, Roxas pushes himself up and sighs. He slinks off the bed and leaves his room, taking the familiar hallway towards the familiar room with the double oak doors. Pushing his way inside, Roxas shuts the door quietly behind him.

As expected sadly, Axel is still asleep in the bed. But something about seems more . . . normal than the other days he had visited. The way Axel is sleeping now, it's more like the way he would sleep as if he wasn't in a coma. Instead of lying as straight and as stiff as a board, one of his hands is draped over his abdomen while the other simply lies at his side. His lips are slightly curved in the slightest smile, barely visible and only there if you think you see it.

Roxas wanders over to the bed and takes a seat in the chair that is not permanently set next to the bed, indents in the carpet as proof of its little movement. He leans forward and intertwines his fingers with Axel's. His fingertips are cold, but his overall hand is warm. As he has been doing, Roxas brings the hand up to his lips, kissing Axel's knuckles.

But this time, his heart skips, as he feels Axel's fingers twitch beneath his lips.

Roxas conceals his gasp as best he can see he watches Axel stir slightly. His eyes squinting a bit, a twitch f his feet underneath his sheets, and a large exhale causing his chest to deflate. Roxas leans forward and hears the gasping in his ears before he realizes his breathing has grown ragged.

"Axel." Roxas whispers. Pleads. Begs. He conceals Axel's hand in both of his, keeping his lips pressed to Axel's smooth skin.

But alas, after another twitch of the fingers, Axel's body grows still. His breathing normal and even. Shoulders slumping, Roxas feels his eyes moisten, and anger grow at the teasing. So close and yet so far.

There's a gentle knock on the door and Roxas looks over his shoulder to find Riku walking in, his cloak and weapons dismissed, and changed into a deep purple tunic and dark pants. The weapon he does have is a simple dagger, carried like any other man carries their wallet.

He offers Roxas a gentle smile. "Hey. How're things?"

"One step forward," Roxas inhales and then sighs. "and then five steps back."

"Better than not having him move at all" Riku reminds. Roxas merely shakes his head as he strokes the skin of Axel's hand with his thumb. "Well I'd hate to interrupt, but Reno is ready to see us. We can talk to him about the information I found."

"Why do you need me?" Roxas snaps. "I spent most of my time just trapped in the inn."

"It'll require you. You're a necessity of the meeting. Think of it like a royal council, and you're the second most important person there."

"Why not the first?" Roxas grins.

"Because this isn't your house. Now come on."

Roxas manages to chuckle and slowly untangles his hand from Axel's. He spares Axel a kiss on the forehead and exits the room with Riku. He follows the silver-haired assassin down the hallway towards Reno's study, though this time they enter through the door to the upper floor and descent the ornate designed staircase. There sits Reno at his large desk by the window, with files that assumingly Riku had brought to him. Vanitas sits in one of the cushioned armchairs, cleaning his nails with the tip of his dagger. When he spots Roxas and Riku, he smiles. Reno lifting his head as well to greet the two boys.

Even though Riku makes it first to the small gathered furniture, he steps aside and motions Roxas to sit. He accepts it and exchanges a smile with Vanitas. Reno doesn't say anything spare for a smile to the boys before returning to the papers. In the silence that passes as Reno reads the documents, his only reaction is the occasional drumming of his fingers on the wooden desk.

Riku had mentioned something about finding out if there were any mercenaries or hired thugs who were simply smuggling illegal trades through the coast, and it would seem that it true, as Roxas immediately recognizes one of the maps sprawled on Reno's desk: a map of Kerwon. But if this simple missions had to be brought to Reno it must mean there's more to it than meets the eye. And judging by the growing frown on Reno's face, it has to be true. To catch Roxas, Vanitas, and Riku off guard is a true rarity. Possibly even worth praise.

Reno lets out a long breath when he finishes and shuffles the papers into alignment.

"Well you certainly had the right idea to bring this to me, first." Reno says looking from Riku, to Roxas to Vanitas.

"Why?" asks Vanitas. "What is it?"

Roxas turns his head to Vanitas – who keeps his gaze on Reno – and then turns his head to the redhead as well.

"According to the papers Riku brought me, an unknown seller is making a hard bargain with the buyer for the trade. And it's this kind of trade that if leaked to the public guard could issue in political affairs." Reno says, drumming his fingers again and running his other hand through his red hair.

"How high is the price for the shipment?" Riku asks.

"As for the trade agreements outlined here . . . the necessary fees required are pretty high. Enough for the buyer to only expect any profits until at _least_ the second shipment. Possibly the third. And it would seem that if there was any issue with that, it could run the deal into the ground." Reno says, grinning like a fiend. So they have an outlet to ruin the bargain but . . .

"Okay, but what are they trading?" Roxas presses. It sounds like some sort of business investment.

Reno sets his gaze downcast, his eyes heavy with hardened sadness. "Slaves. The first shipment of slaves will be there in two days – ready for departure the day after."

Roxas stares at Reno. The illegal smuggling of inventory was . . . was _slaves_? How could anyone stoop so disgustingly low? Not even his own father had done deals with that, and Roxas was sure of that; because he was deeply involved in his father's dealings, and if he gave the word, his father botched it. Roxas saw all of the files and even did all of the writing himself for contracts.

How could anyone stoop so low?

Vanitas seems to have shifted slightly in his seat, as if ready to grab Roxas and prevent him from launching at the desk and . . . and do what? Strangle Reno? Smother the papers? What good would that do?

"So if we botch this deal," Riku says calmly, but still with an edge to his voice, "if things happen to go awry, we can end this trade for good?"

Reno shrugs. "It would seem both men are as stubborn as mules, and if something was to go wrong, surely repercussions will be met. Severely."

Roxas leans forward, flattening his voice into the even tones of a business partner concerned about her investment. "How long, exactly, have they been involved in the salve trade?" It couldn't have been long. It is a complete surprise the continent of Ivalice started capturing and selling's slaves at all – most of them assumingly prisoners of war from whatever territories dared rebel against their conquest. Many of them have to be from Galtea, but there must be prisoners from Ordallia and even Kingdom Hearts, or the isolated tribe in the Deist isles. The majority of slaves go to Gollund or Mythril, the continent's largest and most notorious labor camps, to mine for salt and precious metals. But more and more slaves are making their wait into the households of both continents nobilities. And for this anonymous trader to make such a filthy agreement – some sort of black market deal . . . he must not have enough of a reputation to care.

"Enough apparently. And as for the buyer, I can't tell his motives, but would seem he's dabbled enough in it to seem comfortable with the terms."

"Must be some noble wanting more money for himself." Vanitas snarls as she sinks back into his chair, his posture dictating he has dealt with such dealings before, and is now board of the conversation already. Roxas avoids looking at him.

"Investing in the slave trade is a guaranteed profit, but he might need to expend more of his resources than he'd like in order to keep his business from reaching the wrong ears." says Reno.

Roxas' stomach turns over, but he feigns disinterest as best he can and says. "The trader sounds like a shrewd businessman. Seems like he can make the most of whatever it is he buys."

"For his sake, it must be true. He wouldn't risk his name for nothing." Riku says.

Reno shuffles through the papers. "The documents were supposed to be signed and returned by tomorrow. So already that puts a dent on things. For now . . ." Reno says, crossing his arms. "I'll have to pour over the documents some more. But I'll call you guys when I'm done."

With that, Vanitas and Roxas rise from their chairs, and allow Riku to go first towards the door. Once they're through the threshold, Roxas grabs Vanitas by the arm and leans into his ear to whisper. "Meet me in my chambers."

"This ought to be good." Vanitas mumbles back.

With that, Roxas lets him wander in the same direction as Riku, traveling in the opposite direction to simply retrieve a dagger he had given to Xibgar to borrow. When he makes it back to his room, he shuts the door behind him. When he was certain that no one can hear him, Roxas whirls to face Vanitas.

Vanitas, seated on Roxas' bed, raises his palms to Roxas. "Before you bite my head off," he says, keeping his voice quiet just in case. "let me just say that I went into that meeting knowing as little as you."

Roxas glares at him. "Oh, really?"

"You're not the only one who can improvise." Vanitas hoists himself further onto the bed. Artemis comes trotting in from the balcony and leaps up onto the bed next to Vanitas, licking his forearm.

Roxas digs his nails into his palm. "Why would _anyone_ invest in trading slaves?! That is inhumane! And, yes, I know that says a lot coming from someone like me!" Roxas grumbles a slew of nasty words and paces, his black boots clunking against the floorboards.

"Slaves." Roxas spits, dragging a hand through his blonde hair. His fingers come out slightly greasy. "What business does _anyone_ have getting involved in the slave trade? Even my father is better than that – who would _need_ that money!"

"Not everyone has the endless money abyss like your father, Roxas." Vanitas says. "The buyer probably wants to increase what wealth he already has."

Roxas knew his father's wealth was bottomless. He'd spent a king's fortune on Roxas' upbringing – on Roxas' wardrobe alone. Fur, silk, jewels, the weekly cost of jut keeping himself looking beautiful.

His father would probably be as disgusted as Roxas is. Being hired to kill corrupt government officials is one thing. But taking prisoners of war, brutalizing them until they stop fighting back, and sentencing them to a lifetime of slavery . . .

Roxas growls as he turns away and starts to trek towards the bathroom. "When I find those bastards, I'm going to pluck their eyes out with my bare hands."

"I don't doubt you." Vanitas says. "So, is that it?"

Roxas turns towards Vanitas intending to growl and snarl. But seeing him sitting there with Artemis, a distant look in his eyes as if he is already conjuring up something to devastate the plan, Roxas simply sighs and gives a wave of his hand.

"You're dismissed." He doesn't look back at Vanitas as he shuts the door to his bathing room.

Later that day, Sora stops by Roxas' room and peered in to find the assassin sprawled along his bed surrounded by books, Artemis curled up against his side. Sora had asked if Roxas was going to train with Reno soon. Roxas denied it, saying Reno had other things to worry about. Despite the vague explanation, it seemed to fill Sora with happiness as he skipped his way across Roxas' room to the bed and asked if he could take him out towards the temple ruins where he and Reno train.

When Roxas had asked why, Sora said he wanted to explore the ruins himself, and wanted to take a few notes and charcoal rubbings of the remains, that he has been cooped up in the house long enough and is on the verge of going crazy. Roxas almost wanted to argue to Sora on what ' _going crazy_ ' really is like, but seeing the boy tilt his head to the side and pursing his lip, Roxas just couldn't say no.

After freshening up a little, and telling Artemis to remain in the room, Roxas followed Sora downstairs. Sora was simply threw on a jacket over his tunic, and a leather satchel is strapped across his chest. Roxas stops into the kitchen real quick to pack a few snacks and a canteen of water, then fastens his cloak around his shoulders.

They make their way down the narrow path of the mansion and into town, Sora making the most of their travel and buying a few bits of food, souvenirs, and new bits of clothes. When they finally make it past the city gates, Roxas takes the lead and guides Sora up the path through the forest and to the mountains to the hill with the temple ruins.

Sora's face immediately breaks into a smile and he practically tosses aside his bag, fetches out some paper and charcoal and starts to explore the ruins. Meanwhile, Roxas simply finds a spot where he can keep an eye on both Sora and gaze out at the Royal City of Lesalia.

While Sora continually explores the ruins like a child in a playground, Roxas pulls out a history book he had packed in his satchel and opens the page he had marked with the map of the Ivalicean continent he'd taken from Reno's study. Sprawling the book and map across the broken section of a column in front of him, Roxas rests his cheeks against his knuckles and guides the tip of his pen around the borders of Ivalice and Lionel.

How could it be that Ivalice had such an equal mixture of races, whereas in Kingdom Hearts, anything having to do with magic was immediately executed? Even if Ivalice had its dark times, it still managed to remain prosperous and equal.

Once the world of Ivalice was filled with a multitude of races and high technology and magic, where airships braved the skies and mysterious creatures roamed the lands. However, an event known only as the Cataclysm reshaped the land, destroying landmasses, kingdoms and entire races across the world.

And although many humes survived and technology was still intact, a second Cataclysm occurred a century later in the form of a massive earthquake, completely destroying civilization as they knew it. What once was the Golden Era of Ivalice vanished in an instant, and technology, cultures and knowledge were set back dramatically. It was only after a millennium that order was once more established and from the ashes of the old empires rose kingdoms ruled once more by steel and magic.

To the west where the Holy Ydoran Empire once stood and the western part of the continent of Ordallia called Jylland was once intact, the Kingdom of Ivalice, after a bloody series of conflicts, finally saw peace under the rule of the Commoner-King Delita Heiral who brought unity to the six provinces of the country. Although much of the country and its people have suffered from continuous wars and banditry and lawlessness was abundant, the capital city of Lesalia is known far and wide for its splendor that never fades. Ivalice is notable for being the home of great heroes and many Knightly Orders serving either the nobles or the powerful Church of Glabados in Mullonde.

Northeast of the mainland is the maritime kingdom of Romanda, whose military might on both land and sea is feared even on the Ordallian Continent. Primitive muskets and flintlocks have also recently been created and mass produced, reverse-manufactured from the ancient ruins and machines of the capital city Fluorgis making the industrialized island nation an even larger threat. Rumor has it that its seaworthy ships have managed to discover forgotten continents such as the far western continent of Loar.

The huge Kingdom of Ordallia at the center of the Ordallian continent is flanked by the great Yensa Desert to the east, the Kingdom of Ivalice to the west and the Free Cities of Old Rozarria to the south. The Kingdom of Ordallia is known for its hardy people and its dome-shaped buildings and towers that jut the land. While the kingdom enjoys relative peace with neighboring Ivalice, the major conflict known as the Fifty Years' War saw countless lives lost between the kingdoms of Ordallia, Ivalice and Romanda. The southern part of Ordallia is home to the decentralized region of Rozarria where various city-states enjoy their hard-earned freedom from the north. Cities such as the ancient Ydoran city of Vaseria with its old Pharist basilicas and the beautiful island-city of Mercetto led by its enigmatic Doge, all have their own self-appointed princes and rulers independent from Ordallia.

Roxas scribbles down the extra locations on the map he had brought along, meanwhile Sora prances around the ruins, hopping over a small gathering of pebbles and brushes his fingers along the side of one portion of what once a wall. He has already gathered several rubbings of the ancient stones, but he hasn't been off of the mansion property since Vanitas had taken him around the market.

The terrain soon shifts: pine needles crunch beneath Sora's boots, and gulls, not songbirds, cry overhead. The sea has to be close. Sora sighs as a cool breeze kisses his sweaty face, scented with salt and fish and sun-warmed rock. It isn't until Sora halts by a stream that he notices the reek – and the silence.

The ground has been churned up across the stream, and brush broken and trampled. But Sora's attention gets fixed on the stream itself, and what has been wedged between the rocks.

"Oh, _gods_." Sora whimpers. He slowly back treks his way up the hill. His stomach churns and his voice clogs his throat. So when he chokes out Roxas' name, it comes out more as a panicked scream. "Roxas!"

From his spot far back up the hill, Roxas lifts his head from watching his pen scribbling on the map. At first, he simply looks around still being able to see Sora's spiky hair even from the cover of the trees. He tilts his head slightly, furrowing his brow. As he's about to think he might've just imagined it, Sora calls again, even more panic-stricken.

" _Roxas_!"

The assassin immediately scatters aside his book and map, not even caring that his pen rolls off the stone and into the grass. He sprints his way over to Sora in seconds, who immediately scrambles his way up the grass and cower behind Roxas. "Sora, what's wrong?" Roxas asks as he looks over his shoulder towards the deathly pale servant boy.

Sora points a shaking finger towards the stream and Roxas follows the direction to the rocks.

Roxas swears. A body. A woman, by the shape of what was left of her, and –

A husk.

As if she had been drained of life, of substance. No wounds, no lacerations or signs of harm, save for a trickle of dried blood from her nose and ears. Her skin was leached of color, withered and dried, her hollowed-out face still stuck in an expression of horror – and sorrow. And the smell – not just the rotting body, but around it . . . the smell . . .

"What did this?" Sora asks, studying the disturbed forest beyond the stream. He kneels as he examines the remains. "Why not just dump her in the sea? Leaving her in a stream seems idiotic."

"They left tracks, too – unless those men from whoever found her. Most of the Elven warriors around here are trained not to leave tracks. But this scent . . . I'll admit it's different." Roxas walks into the water. Sora wants to tell him to stop, but Roxas keeps studying the remains from above, then below, circling. His eyes flash to Sora's. They are furious.

This is a woman lying here, broken like a doll.

Roxas doesn't particularly want to smell _anything_ on the remains, but he sniffs. And wishes he hadn't. It is a smell he'd scented twice now – once in that bloody chamber a decade ago, and then recently . . . "I didn't know what that thing in the barrow field was," Roxas says. The woman's mouth is open in a scream, her teeth brown and cracked below the dried nosebleed. Roxas touches his own nose and winces. "I think this is what it does, though."

He braces his hands on his hips, sniffing again, turning in the stream. He scans Sora, then the body. "Reno said you came out of that darkness looking as if someone had sucked the life from you."

Roxas merely nods, folding in his lips. "My skin was a shade paler, my freckles gone."

"What happened?" Sora asked timidly. Carefully approaching the body with small steps as if he's afraid the husk will rise up and scream, ready to scratch at his legs.

"It forced me to go through . . . memories. The worst kind." The woman's horrified, sorrowful face gapes up at the canopy. "Have you ever heard of a creature that can feed on such things? When I glimpsed it, I saw a man – a beautiful man, pale and dark-haired, with eyes of full black. He wasn't human. I mean, he looked it, but his eyes – they weren't human at all."

His unknown Elven relatives had been assassinated. He'd seen the wounds. But the smell in their room had been so similar . . . He shakes his head as if to clear it, to shake the creeping feeling moving up his spine.

"Even the greatest explorers don't know every foul creature roaming these lands. Let alone have them recorded." Sora says.

Roxas stares at the body for a moment longer and then jerks his chin towards the top of the hill back near the temple ruins. "Go get my book. I need to mark these coordinates."

"What about the body?" Sora asks.

Roxas pinches the bridge between his nose. "As much as I don't want to, we'll have to leave it here. I don't think anyone will touch it, and we can't afford to burn it. Yet. I need to show the proof to Reno."

Sora simply nods and hurries back up the hill. When he returns with Roxas' journal and pen, Roxas exits the stream and sits beneath the shade of a towering oak, Sora leaning over his shoulder as he watches Roxas scribble the degree and direction he would have to take with Reno back towards the body. Sora casts his gaze over to the body again, watching it buoy up and down as the water ripples.

"I promise we'll come back tomorrow for it." Roxas suddenly says. Sora peers down and finds the blonde staring straight up at him. Sora's cheeks warm when he sees the sadness and compassion in Roxas' eyes; the blue deepening and enhancing that ring of gold around his pupil. "But for now, we need to get back."

Roxas pushes to stand and Sora quickly follows behind, almost automatically links his hands around Roxas' arm as he leads up the hill. Roxas doesn't budge them, and he only offers Sora a gentle smile.

They pack their things at the ruins, but Roxas' heart feels heavy as he watches the last slice of sun disappear beneath the horizon. As they start their walk, Roxas doesn't fail to notice the small glowing eyes that gathered, peering through the brambles or over boulders or around trees. None of them had bothered Roxas since his first night, and they didn't come closer. Roxas' instincts, warped as they had felt these last few weeks, doesn't raise any alarms, either. So he doesn't tell them off, and doesn't really mind them at all.

As they continue their walk, Sora's hands stay clasped to Roxas' bicep, walking closely to the assassin as the sounds of night creatures start their orchestra of the night: sounds of crickets chirping, the sound of animals scurrying to their shelters, fireflies starting to emerge from underneath leaves and flower petals, flowers and other mysterious plant life start to glow in calm colors of blue, green, purple and pink.

Tranquility starts to slowly settle over the two boys as they walk the forest trail. Sora leans his head against Roxas' shoulder, and Roxas almost instinctively leans his head against the spiky brunette's.

He would have let Sora stay like this until they reached the mansion. Would have let Sora watch the dance of the fireflies and dance among the Little Folk himself had a sudden silence not cause him to halt.


	13. Chapter 12

Night swept in earlier due to the cloud cover, the temperature plummeting as thunder grumbles in the distance. Just as thunder cracks above the canopy of trees, the skies open up. The rain is pounding down, opaque sheets that drive visibility into near nothingness.

But the forest has gone quiet. Those little watching eyes have vanished. And Roxas stands with Sora in the middle of the trail, his head scanning their surroundings, unaware of the rains soaking his hair, his face. Sora meanwhile has pulled his hood up over his head, pulling his cloak around himself, pressing himself into Roxas' chest.

Roxas turns his head left and right, but with the rain, he can't make out anything. But every hair on his body is standing, and a growing reek is slithering in from the forest beyond. Like leather and carrion. Different from what he'd whiffed at the barrows. Older and earthier and . . . hungrier.

Suddenly, taking the main forest trail seemed like the stupidest thing he had ever done.

Apart from the 'no fires' rule, they had stayed off the roads – veering away entirely from the forgotten, overgrown ones. Ones like the path they are on now.

Roxas unsheathes his weapons, dagger in one hand, his pistol in the other.

The silence deepens.

Roxas lights a miserably makeshift torch and leaves it on the path.

Seconds after dropping the torch to the forest floor, Roxas yanks Sora into the drenched forest, the poor boy stubbing his toes on rocks and roots as his eyes adjust to the dark. But Roxas keeps moving ahead – curving down and away from the ancient path. At least Sora was smart enough to keep quiet while Roxas takes whatever control is left of the situation.

They had made it far enough that his torch was little more than a glow on the hill above, a flicker of light illuminating the trees. A gods-damned beacon. Roxas angles his gun and pistol into better positions, about to continue on when lightning flashes.

Three tall, lanky silhouettes lurk in front of the torch.

Though they stand like humans, Roxas knew, deep in his bones from some collective mortal memory, that they are not. They are not Fae or Mer, either.

Not taking any chances, Roxas heaves Sora up onto his back. Sora doesn't say anything, nor does he protest. Either he is too scared, or he understands that things are out of his range of expertise now.

With expert quiet, Roxas takes another step, then another. They are still poking around the torch and its light, taller than men, neither male nor female.

 _Skinwalkers are on the prowl_ , Reno had warned that day they camped, _searching for human pelts to bring to their caves_. Roxas had been too dazed to ask or care. But now – now that carelessness, that wallowing, is going to him and Sora killed. Skinned.

Ivalice. Land of nightmares made flesh, where legends roamed the earth. Despite years of stealth training, each step feels like a snap, his breathing too loud.

Thunder grumbles, and he uses the cover of the sound to take a few bounding steps. Roxas stops behind another tree, breathing as quietly as he could, and peers around it to survey the hillside behind him. Lightning flashes again.

The tree figures are gone. But the leathery, rancid smell swarms all around him now. _Human pelts_.

He hears Sora whimper in his ear, his arms and legs gripping tighter around Roxas' neck and waist. Roxas eyes the tree they'd ducked behind. The trunk is too slick with moss and rain to scale, the branches too high. The other trees aren't any better. And what good is being stuck up a tree in a lightning storm?

Roxas darts to the next tree, carefully avoiding any sticks or leaves, cursing silently at the slowness of his pace, and – _Damn it all to hell_. Roxas bursts into a run, the mossy earth treacherous underfoot. He could make out the tress some larger than rocks, but the slope is steep. He keeps his feet under him, even as undergrowth cracks behind, faster and faster.

He doesn't dare take his focus off the trees and rocks as he hurtles down the slope, desperate for any flat ground. Perhaps their hunting territory ends somewhere – perhaps he can outrun them until dawn. Sora's grip has become vise-like, and despite Sora's fisted hand pressing into his throat, Roxas doesn't' dare tell him to loosen up. Roxas veers eastward, still going downhill, and grabs on to a trunk to swing himself around, almost losing his balance as he slams into something hard and unyielding.

Roxas stumbles back, Sora instinctively letting go and the two tumble to the forest floor. Roxas quickly springs up to his feet, not even bothering to dust off the leaves and dirt that stain his hair and face. Sora is scrambling frantically, whimpering like a lost baby deer in search of its mother.

Hurrying to the boy, Roxas constantly turns his head left and right to ensure nothing else is perusing Sora.

Sora is about ready to scream for Roxas, stumbling through the woods in the rain with the constant fear of being attacked by one of those, creatures.

Then suddenly, there's a grab of his shoulder. Sora slashes with his dagger – only to be grabbed by two strong hands.

Sora's wrists sing in agony as the fingers squeeze hard enough that he can't stab his weapon into his captor. Sora twists, bringing up a foot to smash into his assailant, and catches a flash of fangs before – Not fangs. Teeth.

And there is no gleam of flesh-pelts. Only golden hair, shining with rain.

Roxas drags Sora against him, pressing them into what appears to be a hollowed-out tree.

The assassin keeps his panting quiet, but breathing doesn't become any easier when Sora grips him by the shoulders and puts his mouth to his ear. The crashing footsteps have stopped.

"Roxas please, you–you have to do something." Sora's voice is softer than the rain outside. "Or else we are going to die tonight."

Roxas nods, drawing his sword and a wicked-looking hatchet.

Sora inches closer, his voice still quivering. "Please, Roxas. Please do something, I'm begging you." Roxas can see the tears run down Sora's cheeks in the next flash of lightning. The boy is as pale as death and quivering from head to toe.

Roxas sets a hand on the boy's shoulder, pulling him to his chest. "I promise, I won't let anything happen to you. I _will_ protect you."

 _Our survival depends entirely on you_ , he tells himself. _You need to shift_ now _. Or your mortal slowness will kill Sora_.

Roxas stiffens, but reaches in, feeling for some thread of power. There is nothing. There has to be some trigger, some _place_ inside him where he can command it . . . A slow, shrieking sound of stone on metal sounds through the rain. Then another. And another. They are sharpening their blades. "Magic –"

Lightning flashes, and Roxas can see only what looked like a leather mask with two large angled eyeholes. Completely black. No nostrils, no movement of the chest. Only a long smile that looks like it had been forcedly carved into the leather-like skin.

They do not breathe, so have no airways to cut off. Ice will slow them, not stop them. The wind is already blowing their scents away from the skinwalkers, but not for long.

" _Shift_ , Roxas. _Please_." Sora begs, his hand covering his mouth and his strength going into suppress the sobs that are probably tearing at his throat.

The skinwalkers do not need air.

Roxas' eyes shine as lightning fills their hiding spot. "We're going to have to run in a moment." Roxas says.

 _What form you take when we do will determine your fate_. _So_ breathe, _and_ shift.

Though every instinct screams against it, Roxas closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Then another. His lungs open, full of cool, soothing air, and Roxas can see Sora's fingers interlock with his own.

He is helping. And he is willing to meet a horrible fate in order to keep Roxas alive. He hadn't left Roxas alone. Roxas hadn't been alone.

There is a muffled curse, and Roxas slams his body against Sora's, as if he can somehow shield him. No, not shield him. Cover him, the flash of light.

Roxas barely registers the pain – if only because the moment his Elven senses snapped into place, he has to shove a hand against his own mouth to keep from retching. Oh, gods, the festering _smell_ of them, worse than any corpse he'd ever dealt with.

With his sharply pointed ears, he can hear them now, each step they take as the three of them systematically make their way down the hill. They speak in low, strange voices – at once male and female, all ravenous.

"There is one of them now," one hisses. Roxas doesn't want to know what power it wilds to allow it to speak when it has no airways. "An Elf male joined the mortal boy. I want that Elf – he smells of storm winds and steel." Roxas gags as the smell shoves down his throat. "The little mortal boy we'll bring back with us – dawn's too close. Then we can take our time peeling him apart."

Roxas eases off Sora and the boy is stunned, relieved, jubilant and overwhelmingly grateful when he sees Roxas' pointed ears and fangs gleaming in the next flash of lightning. Roxas lifts his nose to the wind, and Sora watches his nostrils flare. Roxas says quietly, while he assesses the forest beyond. "There is a swift river a third of a mile east, at the base of a large cliff." He doesn't look at Sora as he adjusts his fingers on the ivory hilts of his daggers. "You'll get on my back, and I'll run like _hell_. You must grip as hard as you can, and don't turn around for any reasons. If we are separated, run straight – you'll hear the river." Order after order – a commander on the battlefield, solid and deadly. He peers out of the tree. The smell is nearly overpowering now, swarming from every angle. "If they catch you, you cannot kill them- not with a mortal weapon. Your best option is to fight until you can get free and run. Understand?"

Sora gives a nod. Breathing is hard, and the rain is not torrential.

"On my mark." Roxas says, smelling and hearing things that are lost to Sora's mortal senses. Roxas sinks onto his haunches, and Sora climbs onto Roxas' back. He coils his arms around the Elven assassin's neck, his legs around the waist. Even as Sora worries he is chocking Roxas out his grip is so tight, Roxas doesn't tell him to loosen at all. "Steady . . ."

"Come out, come out," One of them hisses – so close it could have been inside the tree with them. There is a sudden rustling in the brush to the west, almost as if two people are running. Instantly, the reek of the skinwalkers lessens as they race after the cracking branches and leaves the wind leads in the other direction.

"Now." Roxas hisses, and bursts out of the tree.

Even with his sharpened vision, the brush and stones and trees prove a hindrance. Roxas races towards the rising roar of the river, swollen from the spring rains, slower than Sora had expected, but . . . Roxas is slowing for him. Because the wind is already searing Sora's skin making his limbs feel like ice, watering his eyes and pressing his hair flat against his head. Because Sora is still a mortal, and if he were to go at his full speed, Sora would surely –

Roxas suddenly jumps and Sora's grip slips, but Roxas' hand is gripping Sora's forearm, keeping him pressed flat against his back.

"Faster." Sora dares, and as soon as his chest presses into Roxas' spine, Roxas is off again, shooting through the trees like a mountain cat.

It takes all of a minute before the force of that smell gnaws on Roxas' heels and the snapping of the brush closes in. But he won't take his eyes off of the trees, and the brightening ahead – the end of the tree line. Not much further until they can jump and –

A fourth skinwalker leaps out of where it had somehow been lurking undetected in the brush. It lunges for Roxas in a flash of leathery, long limbs marred with countless scars. No, not scars – _stitches_. The stitches holding it various hides together.

Sora screams as the skinwalker pounces, but Roxas doesn't falter a step as he ducks and twirls with inhuman speed, slashing down with his sword and viciously slicing with the hatchet.

The skinwalker's arm severs at the same moment its head topples off its neck.

Sora might have marveled at the way Roxas moves, the way he kills, but Roxas doesn't stop sprinting, so Sora clings to him, glancing once at the body the Elven warrior had left in pieces.

Sagging bits of leather on the wet leaves, like discarded clothes. But still twitching and rustling – as if waiting for someone to stitch it back together.

Roxas runs faster, bounding ahead.

The skinwalkers close in from behind, shirking with rage. Then they fall silent, until –

"You think the river can save you?" one of them pants, letting out a laugh that rakes along Roxas' bones. "You think if we get wet, we'll lose out form? I have worn the skins of fishes when mortals were scarce, male."

Roxas has an image then, of the chaos waiting in that river – a flipping and near-drowning and dizziness – and something pulling him down, down, down to the still bottom.

" _Roxas_." Sora breathes, his cheeks raw with wind burn.

There is no stopping the pursuit behind him. The skinwalkers are going to jump with them. And there will be nothing they can do to kill them, no mortal weapon they can use.

A well rips open inside of him, vast and unyielding and horrible. No mortal weapon can kill them. But what about immortal ones?

" _Sora_ ," Roxas gasps, his hand already reaching over his shoulder to grab Sora's bicep. " _Jump_."

Without giving the boy a chance to question or hesitate, he pulls the boy off his back and sends him hurtling straight off the cliff edge in a mighty throw.

Roxas breaks through the line of trees, sprinting for the ledge that juts out, bare granite beneath him as he throws his strength into his legs, his lungs, his arms, and _jumps_.

As he plummets, he presses his arms to his sides, mimicking a projectile and hurls faster down to Sora. The boy's face is left in fear but a strange contortion of anticipation. Sensing Roxas' shadow over him, Sora turns his head as Roxas reaches out his hands. Sora's eyes are streaming with tears from the powerful gales. Roxas grabs the boy by the waist and he twists to face the cliff, to face them. Sora now pressed against his chest, his arms relock around Roxas' neck. The skinwalkers are no more than three lean bodies leaping into the rainy night, shrieking with primal, triumphant, anticipated pleasure.

" _Head down_!" is the only warning he gives Sora. The downward tilt of Sora's head, the feeling of Sora's lips against his collarbone tell Roxas he obeyed.

Then Roxas rips everything from that well inside him, rips it out with both hands and his entire raging, hopeless heart.

As they fall, hair whipping his face, Roxas thrusts his hands towards the skinwalkers.

"Surprise." He hisses. The world erupts into silver wildfire.

* * *

Sora shudders on the riverbank, from cold and exhaustion and terror. Terror at the skinwalkers – and terror at what Roxas had done.

His golden hair wet from the plunge they took, the Elven warrior stands a few feet away, monitoring the smoldering cliffs upriver. Sora still feels goose skin crawl along his arms as he gazes at the assassin's sculpted features; those pointed ears twitching perking up slightly at the slightest sound.

His head turns to Sora and his eyes widen, and when his lips part, the tips of his sharp canines poke out. "Sora!"

He's over the young boy in an instant, and Sora gasps but clings to the assassin when he feels the unnatural warmth coming from Roxas. And his clothes . . . they felt wet, but not soaked; as if they had spent using whatever time had passed to dry. In fact, they are near dry now.

Roxas and incinerated the skinwalkers. They hadn't even had time the scream.

Unknowingly, Sora starts to sob – whether from relief, from the release of adrenaline or from the near-death experience, Sora curls into Roxas' warmth and finds himself mixing his sobs with laughter.

As Roxas holds the boy close, he looks around and feels his heart sink. The forest is burning on either side of the river – a radius that he didn't have the nerve to measure. It was a weapon, his power. A different sort of weapon than blades and arrows or his hands. A curse.

Still, Roxas doesn't shift back despite the violent shiver that prickles his body. If he was cold in his Elven body, it's probably nothing compared to the cold of being human.

Sora then says hoarsely, "Thank you for saving me." Roxas pulls back from the boy and doesn't say anything but gives a gentle smile.

He unfastens his cloak and removes Sora's damp one. Sora's shivering ceases slightly as he drapes it around the boy's shoulders. Together, Roxas hoists them both to their feet. Sora snuggles into the cloak – dry and warm – pulling the hood over his still-wet hair.

"What was the trigger when you shifted?" Sora asks, as if this moment is a reprieve from the real world, where the freezing storm and the surging river can muffle their words from the gods.

Roxas rubs his arms as he gazes out towards the still burning forest. "I made you a promise." The winds shift direction and Roxas watches as in a moment, the flames nearest the cliff go out. How long will it take to suffocate those flames?

When he looks back, Sora only quirks an eyebrow, asking for a better answer. Roxas chuckles. "Lets' just say it was fear and necessity and impressively deep-rooted survival instincts."

"You didn't lose control immediately upon shifting. When you finally used your magic, your clothes didn't burn; neither did your hair. And the daggers didn't melt."

Sora is right. The magic didn't swarm Roxas the moment he had shifted, and even in the explosion that had spread out in every direction, he had enough control to preserve himself . . . and Sora. Not a single hair had burned.

"Why was it different this time?" Sora presses.

"Because I didn't want you to die. Even worse die to save me." Roxas admits. The rain fills the world, and for a while, silence reigns.

"Would you have shifted to save yourself?"

Roxas merely swallows before saying, "You know the answer."

Sora is quiet for long enough that Roxas wonders if he was piecing the bits of Roxas together. And then he merely walks over and presses himself into Roxas' chest, his arms snaking around the Elven assassin's firmly muscled body seconds after. Roxas returns the gesture, even setting his lips against Sora's smooth and worryingly cold forehead.

"Come on," he says, breaking the embrace. "we need to get you back to the mansion."

Without another word, Roxas easily lifts Sora from the ground and into his arms. This time, Sora pushes against Roxas' chest in protest, his face flushed. "I'm perfectly capable of walking myself, Roxas."

"Not when you're shivering so much you're teeth are going to crack." Roxas smiles, flashing his canines to Sora. Whether for emphasis or by accident, Sora rolls his eyes, but submits. Admittedly, he appreciated the kind gesture. Roxas' body was comfily warm, as if that raging wildfire he had unleashed is now reduced to a flame one would find in the hearth of a home. His clothes are dry, as well as his hair compared to Sora's still clinging to his skin with water of the river. No doubt he'll catch a cold after this.

As they make the trek back towards the direction of the mansion, the sky is starting to turn a gorgeous pink and purple and orange. Roxas' steps never falter, his arms never quiver as he carries Sora the entire way home. In the early morning light, mist begins to dwindle through the trees, and Sora seems to have fallen asleep against Roxas' warmth, because the next time he opens his eyes, they are already passing through the threshold of the city gates.

The guards backed away, their eyes wide despite having their spears ready to strike. As they start to make their way towards the busier streets of the Lesalia's marketplace, Sora feels his cheeks flush red as Roxas' Elven form attracts the attention of nearly every citizen in the city.

Anyone passing in their direction gives Roxas the right of way. Some even muttering prayers for mercy. As if his delicately pointed ears and slightly elongated canines weren't enough to scare the living shit out of everyone, including the vagrants that practically bow and whimper to him as they pass, carrying Sora like he's his latest 'victim' is probably more than enough to state Roxas' as a warrior and law onto himself. Sora had long heard of the Mer existed peacefully with the humans in Ivalice, so perhaps the terror they encounter is due to Roxas himself.

He is heedless of the humans who pause their working and walking and milling about to stare. Anyone they pass, they fall so quiet. Some of the citizens shrink back; some bolting away for the sunny street, to random doorways, anywhere to escape Roxas' intimidating stature.

But through it all, Roxas prowls along, not deigning to look at any of the gawkers. Sora couldn't tell if he was impressed or revolted.

Sora almost doesn't dare to move even in the slightest, for reasons he cannot explain. Is it because he wants the citizens to fear Roxas? Roxas probably doesn't want them to, or he just doesn't care. Deep down, Sora can almost feel the small pulse of amusement that makes its way to Roxas' lips in a ghost of a smile. Besides, he's rather comfy, and fairly warm against Roxas' chest. Even the slightest pull away from him makes Sora' shiver.

They make it to the property of the mansion, and it is only then does Roxas survey the streets and such – where people are still watching. And everyone instantly finds somewhere else to be.

Brushing past the gates, only when they make it to the front door does Roxas finally set Sora down on his feet. There aren't any members outside, but as they push open one of the two front doors, they are immediately greeted by Artemis with her wagging tail. But even as Artemis yelps and kisses Sora as he walks in, the moment Roxas steps through the door, her ears perk erect and she suddenly grows so serious.

Sora can't help but laugh as he watches the dog tilt her head left and right, and then she suddenly starts to back away.

"Artemis," Roxas purrs. "It's me." He holds out his hand, but Artemis remains still for a moment longer before carefully approaching. She gives his hand a few sniffs, but then does something like a sneeze. At least she's not growling as Roxas had expected.

Her tail slowly starts to wag, and just as Roxas thinks she's warming up to him, a voice calls from the steps, and Artemis bolts back and towards the stairs. "Roxas!" Vanitas calls.

Roxas peers his head towards the stairs and finds Vanitas with wide eyes. Artemis comes up after him, sheltering herself behind his legs. But Vanitas makes his way down the stairs, leaping by heaps and bounds until he's in front of Roxas and Sora. A head pokes out from the kitchen and the voice squeals out behind it. "Roxas!"

Roxas turns to find Reno leaving the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, eyes just as wide. And soon members who are passing through the alcoves supporting the stairs come and gather around Roxas wide their eyes full of surprise and astonishment. Xigbar even goes as far to pinch the tip of one of Roxas' pointed ears. Roxas winces and gives a slight hiss that make Artemis suddenly jerk in surprise.

"Whoa." Xigbar chuckles. "What the hell happened? Weren't you two just out flower-picking?"

In answer, Roxas gives a guttural hiss; his fangs glint in the available light of the foyer and Artemis whines as she ducks behind Vanitas. The men chuckle as Roxas rubs his neck in regret.

"Look guys, cut them some slack." Vanitas steps in between Roxas and Sora. "It's clear that they've been through a lot, and Sora is in need of some clean clothes and some warm tea."

"You know me so well." Sora says as he huddles further into Roxas' warm cloak.

The members begin to disperse

"And you –" Reno says as he tickles Roxas' other pointed ear. "– have some explaining to do. How the hell did you manage to shift with Sora and not me?"

"It's one hell of a story." Roxas says as he ruffles his golden spikey hair.

"Clearly. Had I known a near-death experience would've caused you to shift, I would have tossed you off the cliff _long_ before."

"If you could even lay a hand on me." Roxas says grinning like a fiend.

Reno folds his arms and purses his lips. "I could have made you shift, if we'd just spent more time."

"Yeah but, Sora did it in under a day." Roxas says.

"From a near death experience." Sora chimes. Roxas whirls to the boy, immediately feeling regret to make jokes after the way he saw the boy break down in tears after encountering the skinwaklers. But Sora merely gives a gentle smile and removes Roxas' cloak from his shoulders. "I'll come visit you after I wash up." With that, he hands Roxas his cloak and goes with Zack as he starts to lead him up the stairs.

"Alright. Are you going to be okay?" Roxas asks.

"I'll be fine." Sora says, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll meet you in Reno's study."

With that, the rest of the gawkers disperse and that leaves Vanitas and Artemis to walk with Roxas to his room. Neither of the say anything, and Artemis keeps her distance from Roxas as he still doesn't wish to shift back into his mortal form. It's taken him this long to shift, he won't go back so easily. He wishes to get used to it, find out limits.

When they reach his room, even though his clothes are dry, they still have that odd stiffly feeling from the rain. So, Roxas lets Vanitas plunk himself down into one of the armchairs by the small fireplace while Roxas goes into the bathing room to wash his face and change his clothes. When he emerges shrugging on a new white tunic, his bare feet clopping against the wood, he finds Artemis seated next to Vanitas, who strokes her head.

Vanitas lifts his head when he hears Roxas' coming, and he just smiles, showing his stunning white teeth. He gives a slight breathy laugh as he simply watches the now Elven boy walk over to the fireplace.

"It's incredible honesty." Vanitas says as Roxas stands next to his chair.

"What? That I finally shifted without incinerating the entire city, or killing of an entire army?" Roxas grins.

"Well that, and that you finally seem to be comfortable with who you are."

"I wouldn't go are far as that." Roxas says as he casts his gaze downward toward his toes. "I still need to figure it out. See its limits." Roxas says as he gazes at his own hands. Even his knuckles seem more rigid and beautiful.

Vanitas chuckles as he watches the Elven boy's ears droop downward as he stares at his hands, flipping them over and over. He rises from his chair and walks over to the blonde. Even with his sharpened features and sculpted features, Vanitas it still taller than Roxas by a couple inches. He then takes Roxas by the shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

Roxas arches an eyebrow in confusion, but still he nestles his head into Vanitas' neck and sighs. He wraps his arms around Vanitas, letting the smell of his cologne droop his shoulders and relax his stiff limbs. A part of him wants to sleep, but at the same time, he owes Reno an explanation.

With that in mind, Roxas pulls back and smiles at Vanitas; still mindful of his fangs. Vanitas smiles back and the two make their way out of Roxas' room, leaving Artemis whining slightly on the bed. Vanitas trots over to her and pets her head before giving it kisses. Her tail wags but she still remains on the bed as Vanitas closes the door behind them.

"I might just shift back just so she isn't so scared." Roxas says with a faltered smile.

"Oh she'll be fine."

"I could smell the fear on her."

"I don't doubt you." Vanitas smiles. "When _do_ you plan on changing back?"

Roxas shrugs. "Probably by tonight. I mean, while I know it doesn't have much effect, I'm still a little nervous to sleep in Elven form. I'll probably jolt up from my bed with every sound I hear. But at the same time, I'm afraid that if I _do_ shift back, I won't be able to again."

"What, like a once a day kind of thing?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but that's just how I'm thinking. I still have little to no knowledge about my Elven heritage."

"Well, that's why Reno is here. And the rest of us, too." Vanitas ensures. "We'll help you out."

They make it to the doors of Reno's study, Vanitas holds the door open for Roxas and they walk in to find the redhead sitting at his mahogany desk with even more files and papers. Riku simply off to the right near the fireplace observing some antique swords Reno has hung for decoration. He looks up as the boy's take their seats in the armchairs in front of the desk and moments after, Sora comes in newly dressed and washed. Roxas easily gives up his seat for the boy and motions him to sit down. Once everyone is present, Reno smiles and says, "Well, now that we're all here, I feel like a round of applause is needed for Sora, for finally getting this guy to shift."

Even though Vanitas and Riku give slow claps, Sora's cheeks blush. "Not like I deserve it. It was of a matter of life and death for the both of us." Sora says.

"Which brings up the question: what the hell happened out there?" Riku asks as he leans against the desk.

"We finally encountered one of those skinwalkers you mentioned." Roxas answers. Reno's eyes widen, but Roxas continues to the more important matter. "And we found another body. But this time, it was different. It looked as if something had literally sucked the life out of her."

Heads turn and Reno's eyebrows narrow. "Her?" Reno says. "You mean it was a woman?" Roxas swallows and lowers his head in sadness. Briefly, Roxas summarizes their encounter with the skinwalkers, and what the husk had looked like compared to how they had found the body of the Captain of the Guard in Zeltennia. And he tells about the eruption of power Roxas had unleashed in order to save himself and Sora. "Where?" Reno asks.

"I've marked the coordinates." Roxas says as he hands Reno the sheets of paper from his journal. It's actually not that far from the temple ruins."

"Excellent. Well, not excellent like that, but you get the idea." Reno stutters as he sets the paper among the rest.

"What about the salve trade?" Riku asks.

"The shipment has been delayed by a week tops due to the absence of the papers you swiped. So that'll buy us some time to look into these bodies before sending out you, Roxas and Vanitas."

Riku nods, Vanitas remaining still as he asks. "Send us out where?"

"It would seem the shipment is headed towards the Knave's Bay. That's in the Free Cities of Rozarria." Reno says.

"That'd be quite the short journey if they're decided to be shipped to Kerwon." Riku says. "The kingdom is surrounded by Naldoan Sea to the north, and then the East Bugross Ocean. Why would they be delayed?"

"That's still needed to be found out." says Reno.

"Unless they're not intended to be shipped to Kerwon." Roxas suddenly says. "We can't just assume that the rival kingdom is responsible for everything disgusting and nasty. Galtea is just off the coast of the Deist Isles; not to mention there's an unmarked island near Valendia. You never know who could be responsible."

"That conversation belongs to another topic entirely. And apolitical one at that. The only thing you have to worry about is freeing those salves." Reno says. "Whatever information you get you bring back to me."

Silence envelops the study as the assassins nod. And then Reno turns to Roxas and smiles. "So, how does it feel to finally shift?"

"Painful." Roxas bluntly answers. Vanitas and Sora chuckle, Riku giving a slight smirk. "But, it's odd. It's like I've been seeing through the world in a foggy lens, and when I shift, it's like that lens is removed."

Reno nods, still smiling. "I'm glad. But I hope you don't plan on staying in that form forever; for obvious reasons. The whole idea is to master the shift; not just your Elven form."

"But why is my shifting so vital?" Roxas asks at last.

"Because it terrifies you." Reno says. "Mastering it is the first step toward leaning to control you power. Without that control, with a blast like that, you can easily have brunt yourself out."

"What do you mean?"

Seriousness etches delicately onto Reno's face, the atmosphere of the conversation turning. "When you access your power, what does it feel like?"

Roxas considers. "A well." Roxas says. "The magic feels like a well."

"Have you felt the bottom of it?"

"Is there a bottom?" Roxas prays there is.

"All magic has a bottom – a breaking point. For those with weaker gifts, its' easily depleted and easily refilled. They can access most of their power at once. But for those with stronger gifts, it can take hours to hit the bottom, to summon their powers at full strength."

"How does it take . . . elves like me?"

"For most warriors, a full day." Roxas jolts. "Many speculate that before battle, they take the time, so that when they walk onto the killing fields, they can be at their strongest. You can do other things at the same time, but some part of you is down in there, pulling up more and more, until you reach the bottom."

"And when you pull it all out, it just – releases in some giant wave?"

"If you want it to. I can release it in smaller bursts, and go on for a while. But it can be hard to hold it back. People sometimes can't tell friend from foe when they're handling that much magic."

When Roxas had drawn his power on the other side of hat portal months ago, he had felt that lack of control – known he was almost as likely to hurt Axel as he was to hurt the demon he was facing. "How long does it take you to recover?"

"For me? A simple day. Like I said, compared to you, I'm not nearly as powerful. My level of skill would be classified fit for a healer or such." Reno explains. "For someone like you, days. A week, depending on how you use the power and whether you drained every last drop. Some make the mistake of trying to take more before they're ready, or holding on for too long, and they either burn out their minds or just burn up altogether. If you were shaking, which I'm sure you were, it wasn't just from the river. It's your body's way of telling you not to do that again."

"Because of the iron in our blood pushing against the magic?"

"That's how enemies of the Elves will sometimes try to fight against them if they don't have magic – iron everything."

"So where do we go from here?" Sora asks.

"Simple. Roxas and I keep training like usual." Reno answers.

"Back to the old drawing board, huh?" Vanitas chuckles.

"Despite what happened with the skinwalkers, I'm still no closer to mastering my shift."

"We'll get there. Trust me. Now I have an idea on what makes you tick, Roxas."

"If you even dare to attempt what I think you're thinking, I will skin you alive and feed you to the skinwalkers." Roxas suddenly snarls. His voice is laced with a deep guttural growl from the back of his throat.

"I'm just thinking of ideas."

"That's what I'm worried about." Roxas says flatly.

"I think this meeting is adjourned." Vanitas says, interjecting before Roxas decides to rip out Reno's throat with those fangs.

Roxas sighs, still with that low growl. "Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

He makes his way out of the study and down the hall to his room. Once inside, he goes to his bathing chamber and looks at himself in the mirror. His bruises from encountering that dark creature from the meadow are gone now, healed up by his Elven abilities. He does look more handsome, more lethal. But he can't stay in this body forever, it wouldn't be much of a difference if he was in his mortal form.

Taking a deep breath, the patting of paws draws his attention towards the doorway. There is Artemis with her ears forward, her head tilted to the side. Roxas sighs again and returns his gaze to the mirror.

Closing his eyes, Roxas focuses on the heat in his heart and suddenly his body grows stiff. A flash of light and pain, and then he feels his skin contract back into his rail mortal form. His heart beats fast for a few moments, and his vision goes blurry as if as gone farsighted.

Then there's a poke at his thigh and Roxas turns to find Artemis with her tail wagging. He pets the dog, an immediate feeling of worry and regret. Doubts begin to immediately flow through his mind and he worries about what could happen tomorrow.

He can do it. He is Kingdom Heart's Assassin. He is the son of Cloud Skyes. He can do this.

Making his way to bed, Roxas falls down onto the soft mattress and sleeps the moment his head hits the pillow.


	14. Chapter 13

After the meeting had dispersed from Reno's study, Sora returns to his room and throws himself on the nearest cushioned surface. Despite the exhaustion, his mind is wide awake. Curling on his side, Sora tucks one arm under his head.

Gods, compared to being in the glass castle with Lady Tifa, being with Roxas' is both a terrifying, but enjoyable experience.

Sora is still amazed when he witnesses Roxas' shift in person. The way his ears stretch into those delicate points, the way his teeth grow and sharpen themselves, the way his eyes become more slant and his pupils vertical. His features harden into looking like his face was personally sculpted by the gods themselves.

He is undoubtedly beautiful. Both in mortal and immortal form.

Of course, Sora never felt anything more than friendship towards the boy, but there's no denying his beauty.

Sora can't help but think that what he experiences with Roxas, it's probably nothing compared to what Roxas goes through probably every day.

Since the day they had met at the castle, Sora knew he'd be getting himself into something dangerous the moment he walked in on Roxas in his room and there were bits of shattered dishes everywhere, food smeared and splattered on the walls and furniture. And the way his voice had boomed around the room when he shouted at Sora. That simple impulsive holler was nothing compared to what Roxas _really_ was.

He thinks back to the day when he had gotten dragged through the portal by that Heartless, demon-creature. The blinding pain in his leg and arm, the fear that had paralyzed him into unconsciousness before Axel and Roxas came in moments after to help him.

Roxas' power in that world, while unbelievable it was also dangerous. Sora can still feel the reverberations when Roxas had ordered them to run. He can still see the horror and awe in Axel's eyes as he lifted Sora from the ground, leaving Roxas to defend against the demon.

He had been invisible all those years at the castle, and then when Roxas had immediately come in, it's like his life got flipped upside down and dipped in blood. Sora reflects on the days when his life was simple and followed the blandest of routines: wake up at dawn, prepare the breakfast, wash the dishes, fold the laundry, deliver food to the assassins, clean the halls, wipe the paintings, feed the horses, beat the rugs. The work was long and tedious, and Sora even had to give up a few of his meals to complete them. But it was, peaceful work.

Now, now he still has a routine, but it's divergence compared to the mansion is . . . surprising: wake up late, wander down to the kitchen to make breakfast if it's not already made, wash his face and brush his teeth, train with Roxas, Vanitas or Riku in the backyard, eat lunch, read a book.

It's so counterintuitive to his days as a servant boy. Those traits from those days carrying over to the point that it's a near habit. Like when he and Roxas and Luxord cooked in the kitchen, then he's doing it _willingly_. And the training . . .

To think that he is almost a full-on assassin. Of course that title _Assassin_ seems too strong a word, as Sora has yet to kill anyone; gods forbid that day comes. And in his own opinion, his skill setting is still _far_ off compared to Vanitas, and Riku and especially Roxas.

But just putting his two selves side by side, by putting the servant boy of Traverse Town, next to the near-warrior he is becoming, it's incredible. How he has changed in the manner of months. The way he can defend himself against the other men who have him by serval inches and several pounds of muscle, the way he can hold a blade without his hands quivering, and the also surprising way he can remain calm now in certain situations . . . Was that just a given trait because he feels more confident in himself?

It does seem to help with the trauma that he had endured. Like when he came face to face with that demon Heartless and lived, or after he had watched Roxas tear down the Faceless assassins as if they were nothing more than thin stalks of wheat grass. Or after watching the death of fellow friend Demyx of the crew, and watching Roxas battle himself form mortal to immortal form.

In his own way, his soul and being have hardened. Not into something cold and heartless, but in the form of a fighter. It's probably for the better, because Sora can't deny he's appreciated and loved the training; if only because Roxas isn't the teacher he had expected. He thought Roxas would be too strict and too demanding, but he let Sora move at his own pace and taught him step by step.

A knock on the door tears Sora away from his thoughts. He props himself up on his elbow as he calls for the visitor to come in. His heart nearly skips a beat when the door opens and in pops silver hair.

Smiling at the boy, Riku steps inside, looking handsome in a navy-blue tunic and black pants. His hair is shorter than it was back in Twilight Town, just by a few inches. It stops at the base of his neck, and his cerulean eyes seem brighter even in the dwindling daylight.

"Hey." He says to the boy with that smile. He strolls his way into the room, shutting the door behind him. Sora fixes himself into a more seated positions, his legs tucked underneath him instead of sprawling himself along the bed. Sora ruffles his hair as his eyes trail down Riku's muscled body until he finds a book in his hands.

That's right; Sora had lent Riku a book while Reno and Roxas were out one day for training. Sora clears his throat as Riku reaches the bed and sits on the edge of it. "Brought your book back." He says, extending out his hand towards Sora. Scars pepper his hand – small, slender scars that suggest years of training with blades.

Sora takes the book with a shy smile. "Y-You finished it already?"

His skin prickles when Riku gives a soft chuckle. "Are you kidding? I couldn't put it down."

Their relationship had started off at a bad time, and frankly on a bad note. It was back when they had to meet in Roxas' apartment in Traverse Town. It was after Tifa had made off with Roxas and her remaining members of her Faceless Assassins after Roxas slaughtered nearly all of them.

Since Riku was still under the influence of his father and the rule of the Guilds, he seemed cold and distant, opening up with calling Sora Roxas' bitch. Sora replied with a comment that shut the assassin heir up right quick. But it wasn't until they had battled alongside Twilight Town's city guard, until they boarded the boat sailing to Ivalice that Riku started warming up to Sora; even showing bits of his personality.

With Roxas always being by Axel's unconscious side, Sora was left with the rest of the remaining crew members. And it wasn't until Riku had approached him, striking conversation about Sora's choice of book, that they had started to bond. Riku had made a comment about Sora's favorite author, and what he personality thought was his best book ever written, and Sora replying with a polite disagreement, bringing the conversation to being about their favorite character pairings. They spoke for nearly the entire ride every day, and soon their conversations drifted off to other things. Perhaps when the Guilds were now officially disbanded from crimes and helping out with the city guard, Riku had deiced that he didn't have to be so intimidating anymore.

And now that Roxas is preoccupied with training with Reno while accepting his contracts, Riku seemed to have taken over training Sora for the afternoon. Riku was a little bit more . . . pushy than what Sora is used to, but Sora is once again left with the wrong mentality: thinking Riku would force Sora to do a hundred push-ups if he didn't block a certain move, but no. he only made Sora go through the moves over and over until they were as easy as breathing. It wasn't as bad as it sounds.

Now Riku is coming to Sora's room nearly every night, and the two of them just talk back and forth for nearly hours. And Riku laughs when he's with Sora; he smiles and he laughs and Sora laughs too. It's strangely odd, but comforting.

"So, have you got anything new?" Riku asks.

"Oh, uh, yes I think I do." Sora says. He quickly gets up from the bed and wanders over to the single bookshelf located near his desk in the right-hand corner of his room. Apparently Riku saw that as an invitation and follows Sora over to the bookshelf. Sora's cheeks flush as he feels Riku's presence behind him.

Unfortunately, with all their time spent together, Sora is now starting to . . . observe more of Riku when he's around. He is tall – taller than Roxas, even – and broad-shouldered. Powerfully built, but not bulky.

Sora swallows and focuses on his breathing as he searches for the book. He can't figure _when_ exactly he started liking Riku, he personally didn't think he ever would. But . . . _something_ changed. And in that change, Riku had started to visit Sora on his own.

He doesn't know the reason, and really doesn't want to find out.

Because he doesn't care.

Sora tries his best to hide his shaking hands as they browse through the bookshelf, but to his dismay and confusion, the book isn't there. "Oh, oh, sorry. I think it's over on my nightstand." Sora stupidly stutters, cursing himself as he hears the quiver in his voice. He quickly hurries over to the table beside his bed and finds the book there with a green ribbon marking the chapter he had left off.

Idiot. Riku probably saw the book the moment he had walked in; because assassins are observant like that. And in result, Sora just made a complete idiot of himself. He tries to ignore the heat rushing to his face as he picks up the book. He clears his throat this time before he speaks.

"Um, I–I just got it recently, and I'm already halfway through. I guess I forgot that I haven't finished it. B-But if you want it –"

Riku chuckles, and Sora feels like he wants to collapse, or just let Riku pin him to the bed right now.

Gods, what happened to this thinking?!

But Riku takes Sora's chin and tilts it up to look at him, and Sora swallows, trying to steady his breathing even after Riku releases his chin. He gives that gentles smile, but Sora can see the mischief and desire in his eyes, and Sora almost takes that one step closer. That one step it could take to bring their lips together.

"Look, don't rush through it. Take your time, I can find something else." Riku says. "I'm sure, or more rather hoping that Reno has _something_ worth reading in his study."

Sora can feel his mouth quiver as he tries to think of something logical to say. But he quickly claps his mouth shut and nods his head. "I'll let you know when I'm done."

"Thanks." Riku smiles, and he then starts to make the trek towards the door.

"The author is someone new for me as well, so I'll let you know if she is worth reading." Sora suddenly blurts, stopping Riku's hand as he coils around the brass knob. He turns to Sora and he gives the boy a small smile.

"Oh, thanks." says Riku. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah." Sora says, taking steps towards the door was Riku opens it and steps through the threshold. He does his best to give a smile as he watches the assassin leave.

Sora is about to go over and set the book back, until there's a knock seconds later.

Some force drove him to practically yank the door open, and moments later he sees a flash of that smile before feeling the pressure of his lips.

Sora immediately grows rigid, but just as fast, he seems to melt into the feeling. His lips are softer than he had imagined, so smooth as they mold against his, the movement remind Sora much of how a hand rubs and caresses the back.

All too soon, Riku pulls away but gives a quick peck again before grinning like a fiend. "Come visit me whenever you're free."

With that, the assassin officially leaves, and Sora watches as he walks with that swagger down the hall. He doesn't look back.

Sora shuts his door and presses his back against the cooling wood. He sets his hand over his mouth and can feel his heart thundering against his chest.

The rest of that evening, the young servant boy spent it humming through his meal.

* * *

Training with Reno up until the day comes for Roxas, Vanitas and Riku to be sent out to Knave's Bay, is the best option for now, because it'll give Roxas something to do. So the next day, he and Reno make their usual trek out of the city and up to the temple ruins – far enough away that if Roxas did manage to shift and lose control of his magic in the process, he won't incinerate anyone.

Roxas had taken the time to write back to his father, explaining everything that had happened. And literally, _everything_. From the simple contracts Reno applied, to the Heartless in Zeltennia, to the slave trade allegedly happening around Kerwon, and his final to his shifting with the skinwalkers. At the end of it, Roxas' hand ached but her had sealed the letter and sent it out to the post building.

Everything – _everything_ – depends on that command: shift. But the memory of what the magic had felt like as if seared out of him, when it threatened to swallow him and the whole world, plagues him, waking and asleep. It is almost as bad as the endless sitting.

Now, after two miserable hours of it, Roxas groans and stands, stalking around the ruins. Reno had ventured to Roxas' coordinates and thankfully the body is still there. He had been there, hunched over the body for at least twenty minutes while Roxas sat explores the ruins. The horse that Reno had rode in with this time, grazes among the grass nearest the temple, its silver-haired tail whipping away bugs. Roxas didn't ask why Reno decided to ride a horse out this time, but more importantly why he didn't bother to offer one to Roxas. Though he had a feeling it had something to do with his Elven trait of speed. Which meant he would try and get Roxas to shift one way or another.

And then Roxas would have to gut Reno if he dared put anyone in danger.

It is unusually sunny today, making the pale stones seem to glow. In fact, Roxas could have sworn that the whispered prayers of long-gone worshippers still resonate. His magic has been flickering oddly in response – strange, in his human form, where it is normally so bolted down.

As Roxas studies the ruins, he braces his hands on his hips anything to keep him ripping out his hair. "What is this place, anyway?" Only slabs of broken stone remains to show where the temple had stood. A few stones – pillars – were tossed about as if a hand had scattered them, and several stones grouped together indicates what had once been a road.

Reno follows up to Roxas as he examines a cluster of white stones. "The Sun Goddess's temple."

Meiyou, Lady of Light, Learning, and Fire. "You've been bringing me here because you think it might help with mastering my powers – my shifting?"

A vague nod. Roxas puts a hand one of the massive tones. If he feels like admitting it, he could almost sense the echoes of the power that had dwelled here long ago, a delicious heat kissing its way up his neck, down his spine, as if some piece of that goddess are still curled up in the corner. It explains why today, in the sun, the temple feels different. Why his magic is jumpy. Meiyou, Sun Goddess and Light-Bringer, was sister and eternal rival to Fiend, Keeper of the Moon.

"Minerva was immortalized into godhood thanks to the Queen of the Fae," Roxas muses as he runs a hand down the haggled block. "But that was over five hundred years ago. Megami had a brother in the moon long before the Minerva took his place."

"Fiend _was_ the original brother's name. But we humans gave him some of Minerva's traits. The hunting, the hounds."

"Perhaps Fiend and Megami weren't always rivals."

"What are you getting at?"

Roxas shrugs and keeps running his hands along the stone, feeling, breathing, smelling. As he dusts the block off, an image emerges of a stag with a glowing star between its antlers, so like the one Ventus had transformed into in his dreams. And then Roxas remembers . . .

Bahamut, the Dragon Lord of the South stood for Kerwon. The stags were considered the Lords of the North; Lords of Valendia. The Chocobo was the Lord of the West, of Ivalice.

Roxas never really did find you where Ventus was from . . . did he? If so, he would remember, right? Could have really been from this far off the continent of Kingdom Hearts?

He had heard Reno tell stories of the sun stags, who held an immortal flame between their massive antlers and who had once been stolen from a temple in this land . . . "Is this where the stags were kept – before this place was destroyed?"

"I don't know. This temple wasn't destroyed; it was abandoned when the Elves moved to Valendia, and then ruins by time and weather."

"Your stories said destroyed, not abandoned."

"Again, what are you getting at?"

But doesn't know, not yet, so he just shakes his head and says, "The Elves of my continent – in Kingdom Hearts . . . they weren't like the ones here in Ivalice. At least, I don't remember them being that way. There weren't many, but . . ." Roxas swallows hard. "The Dark Lord hunted and killed them, so easily. Yet when I look at the sentries and warriors here, I don't understand how he did it." The Elves had been stronger, faster. More should have survived, even if some had been trapped in their animal forms when magic vanished.

Roxas looks over his shoulder at Reno, one hand still pressed against the warm carving. A muscle flickers in Reno's jaw before he says, "I've never been to your continent, but I heard that the Elves there were gentler – less aggressive, very few trained in combat – and they relied heavily on magic. Once magic was gone from your lands, many of them might not have known what to do against trained soldiers."

"And yet King Sephiroth wouldn't send aid."

"The Elves of your continent long ago severed ties with Sephiroth." He pauses again. "But there were some in Valendia who argued in favor of helping them. The king wound up giving sanctuary to any who could make it here."

Roxas doesn't want to know more – doesn't want to know how many had made it, and whether who had been one of the few who argued to save their western brethren. So he moved away from the carving of the mythical stag, instantly cold as he severed contact with the delightful heat living within the stone. Part of him could have sworn that ancient, strange power was sad to see him go.

He follows Reno back towards the body, of which he is etching down notes, two pages already filled.

"Maybe the townspeople might know something. Maybe they've seen it or heard rumors." Roxas says.

Reno seems to be thinking the same thing, because he shakes his head in sorrow – and anger, to Roxas' surprise. "We don't have the time; you wasted daylight by coming here in your human form." They hadn't brought any overnight supplies, either. "We have an hour before we head back. Make the most if it."

And the path led absolutely nowhere. It ran into a sea cliff with no way to the narrow strip of beach below, no sign of anyone living nearby. Reno stands at the cliff's edge, arms crossed as he stares out at the jade sea. "It doesn't make sense." He says, more to himself than to Roxas. "This is the fourth body in the last few weeks – none of them reported missing." He squats on the sandy ground and draws a rough line in the dirt with a scared finger. The shape of Ivalice's coastline. "They've been found here." Little dots, seemingly random save for being close to the water. "We're here." He says, making another dot. He sits back on his heels as Roxas peers at the crude map. "And yet you and I encountered the creature lurking amongst the barrow-wights here," he adds, and draws an X where he assumed the mounds were, deep inland. "I haven't seen any further sighs of it remaining by the barrows, and the weights have returned to their usual habits."

"Were the other bodies the same?"

"All were drained like this, with expressions of terror on their faces – not a hint of a wound, beyond dried blood at the nose and ears." From the way Reno's skin pales, the way he grits his teeth, Roxas knew that it rankled his pride not to know what this thing is.

"All dumped in the forest floor, not the sea?" a nod. "But all within walking distance of the water." Another nod. "If it were a skilled, sentient killer, it would hide the bodies better. Or, again, use the sea." Roxas gazes to the building water, the sun starting its afternoon descent. "Or maybe it doesn't care. Maybe it wants us to know what it's doing. There were – there were times when I left bodies so that they'd be found by a certain person, or to send a type of message." The Faceless Assassins being the latest of them. "What do the victims have in common?"

"I don't know." Reno admits. "We don't even know their names r where they came from." He rises and dusts his hands off. "We need to return to the mansion."

Roxas grabs his elbow. "Wait. Have you seen enough of the body?"

A slow nod. Good. So had he – and he'd had enough of the smell, too. Roxas committed it to memory, noting every detail that he could. "Then we've got to bury her."

"The ground's too hard here."

Roxas stalks through the trees, leaving him behind. "Then we'll do it the ancient way." He calls. Roxas would be damned if he left that woman's body decomposing in a stream, damned if he left her there for all eternity, wet and cold.

Roxas pulls the too-light body out of the stream, laying it on the brown pine needles. Reno doesn't say anything as he gathers kindling and branches and then knelt, trying not to look at the shriveled skin or the expression of lingering horror.

Neither did Reno mock Roxas for his few times it took to get the fire started by hand, or make any snide comments once the pine needles finally crinkled and smoked, ancient incense for a rudimentary pyre. Instead, as he steps from the rising flames, Roxas feels Reno come to tower behind him, feel the surety and half wildness of him wrap around him like a phantom body. A warm breeze licks at Roxas' hair, his face. Air to help the fire, wind that helps consume the corpse.

The loathing Roxas feels has nothing to do with his vow, or Ventus. Roxas reaches into the ageless pit inside him – just once – to see if he could pull up whatever trigger it was that caused the shift, so he could help his sad little fire burn more evenly, more proudly.

Yet Roxas remains stale and empty, stranded in his mortal body.

Still, Reno doesn't say anything about it, and the wind feeds the flames enough to make quick work of the body, burning far faster than a mortal pyre. They watch in silence, until there is nothing but ashes – until even those are carried up and away, over the trees, and toward the open sea.

The day after that, the time before Roxas had to be sent off to Knave's Bay for the slave trade was suddenly widened. Due to Riku's swipe of the shipment information and the contract of make the trade official, it was said that after the two traders had bickered back and forth, a new contract with new terms had to be arranged, adding four more days. So, to occupy that time, out of nowhere Reno decided to take Roxas to the commune of healers fifteen miles away, where the finest healers in the world learned, taught, and worked. Situated on the border between the Mer and mortal world, they are accessible to anyone who can reach them. It is one of the few good things King Sephiroth had done.

As a child, Roxas had begged his father to bring him. But the answer had always been no, accompanied by a vague promise that they would someday take the trip to the Nelveska Temples in the Romanda, where many of the teachers had been taught by the Elves.

So Reno took him. He could have spent all day – all month – wandering the grounds under the clever, kind eyes of the head Healer. But his time there was halved thanks to the distance and his inability to shift, and Reno wanted to be home before nightfall. Honestly, while Roxas had actually enjoyed himself at the peaceful riverside compound, he wondered whether Reno had just brought him there to make him feel bad about the life he'd fallen into. It had made Roxas quiet on the long hike back.

And he doesn't give Roxas a moment's rest: they were to set out the following dawn on an overnight trip, but he wouldn't say where. Fantastic.

Already making the day's bread, Luxord only looked amused as Roxas hurries in, stuffed his face with food and guzzled down tea, and hurried back out.

Reno is waiting by the fountain out in the driveway, a small pack dangling from his hands. He holds it open for Roxas. "clothes." He says, and Roxas stuffs the extra shirt and underclothes Roxas had laid out into the bag. He shouldered it – which Reno supposed meant Roxas was in a good mood, as Reno fully expected to play pack mule on their way in the midst-shrouded trees, again heading west. When the city walls had vanished behind them, the ward-stones zinging against his skin as they passed through Reno stopped at last, throwing back the heavy hood of his jacket. Roxas does the same, the cool air biting his warm cheeks.

"Shift, and let's go." He said.

"And here I was, thinking we'd become friends."

But Roxas made note of the beautiful painted mare Reno had brought along, signaling that he planned on making Roxas shift at some point. Roxas also noticed the strong leg muscles of the mare, indicating that she was indeed a fast runner, made for galloping along the green plains.

Reno raised his brows and gestured with a hand for Roxas to shift. "It's twenty miles." he says by way of encouragement, and gives Roxas a wicked smile. "We're running. Each way."

Roxas' knees trembled at the thought of it. Of course he'd make this into some sort of torture sessions. Of course. "And _where_ are we going?"

Reno smiles and gives a gentle chuckle. He then licks his lips and tucks the tips of his fingers into his pockets. "There was another body – only a half-elf this time from a neighboring fortress. Dumped in the same area, same patterns. I want to go to the nearby town to questions the citizens, but . . ." his mouth twists to the side, then he shakes his head at some silent conversation with himself. "But I need your help."

"And you don't think it would be easier for the townspeople to talk to _you_?"

"Is that a compliment?" Reno says with an exaggerated toss of his hair. Roxas rolls his eyes.

Perhaps yesterday's outing to the healer's compound hadn't been out of spite. Maybe Reno had been trying to do something nice for Roxas.

"Now shift, or it'll take twice as long."

"I _can't_. You know is doesn't work like that."

"Don't you want to see how far you can run?"

"I can't use my other form in Kingdom Hearts anyway, so what's the point?" Which is the start of a whole massive issue he hasn't yet let himself contemplate.

Reno walks over and excitedly grasps Roxas' shoulders with an ecstatic smile. "The point is that you're here now, and you haven't properly tested your limits." It is true. Roxas hadn't really seen what he is capable of. "The point is, another husk of a body was found, and I consider that to be unacceptable."

Another body – from that creature. A horrible, wretched death. It _is_ unacceptable.

Reno gives Roxas' blonde spike a sharp, painful tug. "Unless you're still frightened."

Roxas' nostrils flare. "The only thing that frightens me is how _very much_ I want to throttle you." More than that, Roxas wants to find the creature and destroy it, for those I had murdered and for what it had made _him_ walk through. He would kill it – slowly. A miserable sort of pressure and heat begins building under his skin.

Reno murmurs. "Hone it – that anger."

Is that why he had told Roxas about the body? Bastard – bastard for manipulating him, for making him wanting to incinerate anything that's in his sights. But Reno's face is encouraging as he says. "Let it be a blade, Roxas. If you cannot find the peace, then a least hone the anger that guides you to the shift. Embrace it – it is not your enemy."

His mother had done everything she could to make Roxas hate his heritage, to fear it. What she had done to him, what he had allowed himself to become . . . "This will not end well," Roxas breathes.

Reno doesn't back down. "See what you want, Roxas, and seize it. Don't ask for it; don't wish for it. _Take it_."

"I'm certain the average magic instructor would not recommend this to people."

"You're not most people, and I think you like kit that way. If it's a darker set of emotions that will help you shift on command, then that's what we'll use. There might come a day when you find that anger doesn't work, or when it is a crutch, but for now . . ." A contemplative look. "It is the common denominator those times you shifted – anger of varying kinds. So own it."

He is right – and Roxas doesn't want to think on it any more than that, or let himself get that enraged, not when he had been so angry for so long. For now . . .

Roxas takes a long breath. Then another. He lets the anger anchor him, a knife slicing past the usual hesitation and doubt and emptiness.

He brushes up against that familiar inner wall – no, a veil, shimmering with a soft light. All this time, he thought he'd been reaching _down_ for the power, but it is more of a reach _in_. Not a wish, but a command. He _would_ shift – because there is a creature prowling these lands, and it deserves to pay. With a silent growl, he punches himself through the veil, pain shooting along every inch and pore as he shifts.

A fierce challenging grin, and Roxas moves so fast Reno can hardly follow as Roxas appears on his other side and yanks on his ponytail. When Reno whirls, Roxas is already gone, and – Reno yelps as Roxas pinches his side. " _Stop_ –"

Roxas is standing in front of him now, a wild invitation in his eyes. Reno had been studying the way Roxas moved, his tricks and tells, the way he assumes Reno would react. So when Reno crosses his arms, feigning the tantrum Roxas expected, Reno waits. Waits, and then –

Roxas shoots to pinch or poke or hit Reno, and Reno whirls, slamming down Roxas' arm with an elbow and whacking Roxas upside the head with his other hand. Roxas stops dead and blinks a few times. Reno smirks at him.

Roxas bears his teeth in a feral, petrifying grin. "Of, you'd _better_ run now."

At least he gives Reno the time to mount the powerfully built mare he brought with and snaps the reins.

Roxas lunges and shoots through the trees.

He lets Reno get ahead for the first few minutes, because though Roxas moves faster, he can barely adjust enough to his altered body to leap over rocks and fallen trees. Reno said they are going southwest, and that is where Roxas goes, dodging between the trees, the anger simmering away, shifting into something else entirely.

He is a golden and white streak besides Reno, and every time he gets too close, Roxas veers the other way, testing out the sense that tell him where the trees are without seeing them – the smell of oak and moss and living things, the open coolness of the mist passing between them like a path that he follows.

The mare's hooves thunder alongside him, her breathing even and heavy, huffing through her nose. They hit the plateau, the ground easy beneath his boots. Faster – he wants to see if he can go _faster_ , if he can outrun the wind itself.

Reno appears at his left, and Roxas pumps his arms, his legs, savoring the breath in his lungs – smooth and calm, ready to see what he will do next. More – this body wants _more_.

 _Roxas_ wants more.

And then Roxas is going swifter than he ever had in his life, the trees a blur, his immortal body singing as he lets its rhythm all into place. His powerful lungs gobble down the misty air and fill with the smell and taste of the world, only instinct and reflex guiding him, telling him he can go faster still, feet eating up the loamy earth step by step by step.

Gods. _Oh, gods_.

Roxas could have flown, could have soared for the sudden surge of ecstasy in his blood, the sheer freedom granted by the marvel of creation that is his body.

Reno shoots at Roxas from the right, but Roxas dodges a tree with such ease he lets out a whoop, the throws himself between two long-hanging branches, mere hurdles that he lands with feline skill.

Reno is at his side again, and this time, the mare he is riding lunges with a snap of her teeth, but Roxas whirls and leaps over a rock, letting the moves he'd honed as an assassin blend into the instincts of his Elven body.

Roxas could die for the love of this speed, this surety in his bones. How had he been afraid of this body for so long? Even his soul feels looser. As if it had been locked up and buried and is only now starting to shake free. Not joy, perhaps not ever, but a glimmer of what he had been before grief had decimated him so thoroughly.

Reno races beside him, but makes no move to grab Roxas. No, Roxas is . . . playing.

Reno throws a glance at Roxas, the horse's breathing hard but even. And it might have been the sun through the canopy, but Reno could have sworn that he saw Roxas' eyes alight with a glimmer of that young, jubilant aura of the boy he couldn't be as a child. He could see Roxas was smiling.


	15. Chapter 14

It was the fastest twenty miles of his life. Granted, the last five were slower, and by the time Reno brought them to a halt, both Roxas and the mare are gulping down air. It is only then, as they stare at each other between the trees, that Roxas realizes his magic hasn't once flared – hadn't once tried to overpower or erupt. He can feel it waiting down in his gut, warm but calm. Slumbering.

He wipes the sweat from his brow, his neck, his face. Though he is panting, he still could have run for miles more. Gods, if he had ben this fast the night his mother –

It wouldn't have made a difference. His mother had orchestrated every step in Roxas' own destruction, and would have found another way. And she had only done it because of Roxas' heritage – because of his power. Having this glorious Elven body ruined everything.

Roxas blinks, realizing he'd been staring at Reno, and that whatever satisfaction he'd seen on his face has faded off. He tosses something at Roxas – the shirt he'd carried with him. "Change." Roxas looks to Reno but simply shrugs his shoulders once he gets a whiff of the sweat that has soaked into his shirt. Reno turns his head as he adjusts the reins of his mare, and his eyes find Roxas as he strips off his shift. His back is just as tan as his front from the color Roxas has been getting from his days outside. When he finished swapping shirts, Reno tosses him a skein of water, which Roxas gulps down. It tastes . . .

He can taste each layer of minerals in the water, and the musk of the skein itself.

By the time they stride into the red-roofed little town, Roxas can breathe again.

They quickly learned that it was almost impossible to get _anyone_ to talk, especially to a redheaded outsider and his Elven visitor. Roxas debates returning to his human form, but with his accent and ever-worsening mood, he is fairly certain a man from Twilight Town wouldn't be much better received than an Elf.

Windows are shuttered as they pass, probably because of Roxas, who looks like nothing short of death incarnate. But Reno is surprised to see the boy remain calm with the villagers as they approach. Roxas doesn't raise his voice, doesn't snarl, doesn't threaten. He doesn't smile, but for Roxas, he is downright cheerful.

Still, it gets them nowhere. No, they have not heard of a missing, half-elves, or any other bodies. No, they have not seen any strange people lurking about. No, livestock are not disappearing, though there is a chicken thief a few towns away. No, they are perfectly safe and protected in Ivalice, and don't appreciate the Elves and half-Elves poking into their business, either.

Roxas has given up on flirting with a pock-faced stable girl at the inn, who had just gawked at his ears and canines as though he was one heartbeat away from eating her alive.

He stalks into the pleasant main street, hungry and tired and annoyed that they are indeed going to need their bedrolls because the innkeeper has already informed them he has no vacancies. Reno falls into step beside him, the storm clouds in his yes saying enough about how his conversation with the taproom maid had gone.

"I could believe it was a half-wild creature if at least some of them knew these people had vanished," Roxas muses. "But consistently selecting someone who wouldn't be missed or noticed? It must be sentient enough to know who to target. The half-elves has to be a message – but what? To stay away then why leave bodies in the first place?" Roxas fiddles with the gold band on his finger, stopping in front of a clothier's window. Simple, well-cut tunics stand on display, not at all like the elegant, intricate fashions in Twilight Town.

He notices the wide-eyed, pale shopkeeper a heartbeat before the woman slashes the curtains. Well, then.

Reno snorts, and Roxas turns to him. "You expected this, I assume?"

"A lot of the Elves who venture into mortal lands have earned themselves a reputation for . . . taking what they want. It went unchecked for too many years, but even though our laws are stricter now, the fear remains."

"Who enforces the laws?"

A torn upturn of his lip. "The King and his knights. When I'm not off campaigning, the King has me hunt down the rogues."

"And kill them?"

The look of struggle remains. "If the situation calls for it. Or they just haul them off to Valendia and let King Sephiroth decide what to do with them." Roxas gives him a look. "Don't give me that, I don't participate in any of that. I'm just a small member of his court and do as I'm told."

"I think I'd prefer death t your hands to death at Sephiroth's."

"That might be the first wise thing you've said to me."

"Some of the men say that the King has some kind of special force that he sends out. Do they hunt with the guards? How often do you see them?"

"I only see them when I attend meetings with my boss, and only when he calls me. The King has them serve as he see fits." Every word is clipped. "It is an honor to be a warrior serving in his inner circle." Roxas hadn't suggested otherwise, but he wonders why Reno feels the need to add it.

The street around them is empty; even food carts had been abandoned. Roxas takes a long breath, and – was that chocolate? "Did you bring any money?"

A hesitant lift of Reno's brow. "Yes. They won't take your bribes, though."

"Good. More for me, then." Roxas points out the pretty sign swaying in the sea breeze. _Confectionary_. "If we can't win them with charm, we might as well win them with our business."

"Did you somehow _not_ hear what I just –" But Roxas has already reached the shop, which smells divine and is stocked with chocolates and candies and _oh gods_ , hazelnut truffles. Even though the confectioner blanches as the two of them overpower the space, Roxas gives the woman his best smile.

Over his rotting corpse is he letting these people get away with shutting curtains in his face – or letting them think that he is here to plunder. Ventus had never once let the preening, bigoted idiots in Twilight Town shut him out of any store, dining room, or household.

And Roxas has the sense that his friend might have been proud of the way he goes from shop to shop that afternoon, head held high, and charmed the ever-loving hell out of those villagers.

Once word spread that the redhead's Elven stranger is spending silver on chocolates, then a few books, then some fresh bread and meat, the streets fill again. Vendors bearing everything from apples to spices to pocket watches are suddenly eager to chat, so long as they sell something. When Roxas pops in to the cramped messenger's guild to mail a letter, he manages to ask a few novices if they'd been hired by anyone of interest. They hadn't, but Roxas still tips them handsomely.

Reno dutifully carries every bag and box Roxas buys save the chocolates, which he eats as he strolls around, one after another after another. When he offers one to him, Reno claims he doesn't eat sweets. _Ever_. Not surprising.

The villagers wind up no knowing anything, which Roxas supposes is good, because it means that they hadn't been lying, but the crab-monger _does_ say he'd found a few discarded knives – small, sharp-as-death knives – in his nets recently. He tosses them all back into the water as gifts for the Sea God. The creature had sucked these people dry, not cut them up. So it is likely that Ivalicean soldiers had somehow lost a trunk of their blades in some storm.

At sunset, the innkeeper even approached them about a suddenly vacant suite. The very best suite in town, he claims, but Roxas is starting to wonder whether they might attract the wrong sort of attention, and he isn't particularly in the mood to see Reno's face when Roxas disembowel a would-be thief. So he politely refuses, and they set out down the street, the light turning thick and golden as they enter the forest once more.

Not a bad day, Roxas realizes as he nods off under the forest canopy. Not bad at all.

That night, Roxas dreams again.

 _Ventus had called him Phoenix. The fire that forever burns._

 _Roxas was still on Axel's ship and he and Ventus were spending the night in his cabin. By then, they have become as close as friends as Roxas would allow, at the time. He was still clinging to his father's teachings, back when they were both different people with different morals. As Roxas grew older, it became apparent that while Roxas inherited most of his father's looks, he'd received his mother's volatile temper and wildness._

 _Roxas had sprawled himself across Ventus' bed, the nightly sky shining with stars and the rippling surface of the ocean severing the horizon. Ventus' room had suited him as well as incorporate the colors of Axel's theme for his crew._

 _The young blonde was sitting at his desk, reading another book from the small shelf that was available in his room. His desk was scattered with papers, and the red-velvet armchair seemed too classy for him, it seemed out of place compared to the old and well-worn sheets and fading decorations of the room. But Roxas assumed he was just being picky because of how his heart would always belong to luxury._

 _Ventus turned the page of his own book in unknown unison to Roxas as he turned the page to the story of fairytales he was reading. Literature and books was one of the few things they had bonded over; besides Roxas teaching Ventus basic battles skills._

 _It actually started back when they were in Atlantica. After Ventus had brought the entire village together in a ceremonial dance, he and Roxas wandered off together while Axel and Demyx wanted to shop in more "adult places."_

 _Roxas and Ventus walked along one another, Roxas in a fairly good mood after the dance, as it was the first time he had ever allowed himself to enjoy . . . well, life. His father's rules had forbid him from going to schools or just being out in the general public. And if Roxas_ really _insisted, his father would make him wear a too-thick black cloak and mask to hide his identity. And when wearing a thick black cloak and mask in the middle of a humid summer, one tends to get cranky and annoyed very easily . . ._

 _Easy enough to cause a fight in the marketplace. So that's when Roxas got into the habit of making Zexion go and fetch him some decent reads._

 _Ventus was practically skipping his way around while Roxas kept his hood over his head, still he was smiling. As they walked down the wide sidewalks, he looked left and right at each of the stores here and across the street. People's heads followed him in surprise, curiosity and a few of the women showed a sultry hunger._

 _It was when Roxas had noticed the quaint bookshop with a sign dangling overhead with its picture being a stack of books with a picture of a little crab with a book between its claws. Ventus had paused his stroll and turned back to find Roxas staring at the display glass. He carefully wandered over, still smiling – and having it widen – when he saw the childlike awe in the assassin's eyes._

 _There were newly published books, fresh covers and clean pages, set into piles on small podiums with other books standing straight up with the titles glinting in gold. The women behind the glass was putting books back onto the small shelves of her shop. She turned her head to Roxas and gave a sweet smile._

 _A silhouette in the back gave the assumption of another employee bringing out more books for the shelves. Roxas angled his head to get rid of the glare of the sun off the glass to see them better._

" _You know you could go inside." Ventus giggled._

 _Roxas' eyes focused on Ventus' reflection and the assassin's smile faltered slightly. "I don't know."_

 _Ventus' smile widened. "Are you afraid?"_

" _I'm not afraid of anything. I just don't want to force you and the men out of town so early."_

 _Ventus leaned in closer to whisper. "If you keep your hood up, you should be fine. Or if you expose yourself, you might just get a better deal." he said with a nudge of his elbow._

 _Roxas deviously smiled. "You're more fiendish than I let on. I think I'm a good bad influence on you."_

" _Shall we go in?" Ventus asked, but was already pulling at the door's handle, activating the chime of bells tied to the door. Roxas rolled his eyes and followed the boy inside._

 _They had spent practically three hours in the shop. It was a miracle the keeper didn't kick them out; probably because of the business they had brought with them. Roxas was smart enough to bring his coin purse with him and bought all of the books he had seen on display and then a few extras. Even bargaining with the shop keeper's assistant to let him have a few books that weren't supposed to be released to the public until the winter season._

 _Ventus on the other hand only looked for classics he had read as a child or of books that were written by his same favorite author. But Roxas didn't argue, didn't fret. It was nice to finally have someone to talk about books with; most of his guild members always teased him in his younger years for always reading in his free time when he should've been training. But if books kept Roxas from nagging at his father into bringing him without into the public, Cloud didn't care._

 _When the boys finally left, twilight had settled along the Kingdom of Atlantica, and Roxas carried most of the bags that had their books back towards the ship at the docks._

 _Once they had reached the docks, and hearing range for anyone was limited to none, Ventus asked, "How often did you go to the library? Was it like your go-to place when you weren't killing people?"_

" _Ha-ha." Roxas mused. "I went there whenever I could. I actually_ enjoy _reading when I have free time."_

" _I didn't know assassins like to read." Ventus said._

" _We're more than just creatures of manipulations, you know."_

" _Could've fooled me. I don't dwell on their business. I don't think anyone dwells in an assassin's business." Ventus said as they mounted the gangplank to Axel's ship._

 _It was then Roxas noticed a wink in the light. He angled his head and found it coming from the cover of the book Ventus had bought and kept tucked under his arm. It was the picture of a white stag with a flaming star between his enormous antlers. There was some letters on the spine of the book stating the title, but Roxas was so captivated by the picture of the stag that he didn't bother to look._

 _It was moments later that they were in Ventus' room, Ventus reading his new book while all of Roxas' were stuffed in his room, untouched. He had become encaptivated by Ventus' fairytale book that he couldn't put it down._

 _Then the clock had struck midnight, and Roxas got broken off from his trance-like state he gets into when he reads and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I should probably get back to my room."_

 _Ventus looked up from his book. "Alright, but you know you're more than welcome to stay. I just ended a great chapter."_

" _I'm flattered." Roxas said as he stretched. "But I'm trying to break that habit. I would sometimes stay up until four in the morning reading all the books I had gotten."_

 _Ventus giggled and stayed at his desk as he watched Roxas pick up his cloak, but didn't put it on. "You know, you can keep that book. I pretty much have every story memorized."_

 _Roxas looked to him perplexed, until he realized he still had the book in his hands. A slight pink tainted his cheeks. "Oh, thank you. Um, I'll be sure to let you borrow one of mine."_

" _Don't even mention it. That's what friends do." Ventus smiled. "Take, and have a good night's sleep."_

 _Roxas stared at the boy for a moment, blinked, and then gave his first genuine smile. "Thank you."_

 _Ventus said nothing as Roxas walked out. He watched Roxas for a long while. Just as Roxas stepped out of the doorway and left – as he stepped away, Roxas could have sworn that tears gleamed on Ventus' pale face._

Roxas' eyes blink open, hardly able to move, to think. It had been the smell – the smell of that gods-damned body yesterday that had triggered the dream. It was agony seeing Ventus' face. He blinks, focusing on his breathing, until he is no longer in that beautiful, jewel box-like room, until the scent of the pine and sun-dried stone on the northern wind has vanished and he can see the morning mist weaving through the canopy of leaves above him. The cold, damp moss seeped through his clothes; the brine of the nearby sea hangs thick in the air. He lifts his hand to examine the long scar carved on his palm.

"Do you want breakfast?" Reno asks from where he crouches over unlit logs – the first fire he had seen the redhead assemble. Roxas nods, then rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Then start the fire." Reno says, with a smile like a fiend.

"You can't be serious." Reno doesn't deign a response. Groaning, Roxas rotates on his sleeping roll until he sits cross-legged facing the logs. He holds out a hand towards the wood.

"Pointing is a crutch. Your mind can direct the flames just fine."

"Perhaps I like the dramatics."

Reno gives Roxas a look he interprets to mean _Light the fire. Now_.

Roxas rubs his eyes again and concentrates on the logs.

"Easy." Reno says, and Roxas wonders if that was approval in his voice as the wood begins to smoke. "A knife, remember. You are in control."

A knife, carving out a small bit of magi. He can master this. Light one single fire.

Gods, he is so heavy again. That stupid dream – memory, whatever it was. Today would be an effort.

A pit yawns open inside of him, the magic rupturing out before he can should a warning.

Roxas incinerates the entire surrounding area.

When the smoke and flames clear thanks to the controlled winds of the Elven sentries, Reno merely sighs. "At least you didn't panic and shift back into your human form."

Roxas supposes that is a compliment. The magic had felt like a release – a thrown punch. The pressure under his skin has lessened.

So Roxas just nods. But shifting, it seems, is to be the least of his problems.

In the next four days that follow – putting their schedule to the Deist Isles back on track – there were more bodies, and certainly no hint of the creature that had drained those people, though Roxas often found himself thinking over the details as he made himself light candle after candle at the ruins of the Sun Goddess's temple. Now that he can shift on command, this was his new task: to light a candle without destroying everything in sight. He failed every time, singeing his cloak, cracking the ruins, incinerating trees as his magic tore out of him. But Reno had a bottomless supply of candles, so Roxas spent his days staring at them until his eyes crossed. He could sweat for hours and focus on honing his anger and all that nonsense but not get as much as a tendril of smoke. The only thing that comes of it was an unending appetite: Roxas ate whatever and whenever he could, thanks to his magic gobbling so much of his energy.

The rain returned, so on the fifth day, bringing them closer to the slave trade, Reno and Roxas canceled their day of training in favor of staying in the house. And after nearly a day and a half spent in his Elven form, Roxas was more than happy to dull his hearing as the rain drums on the roof.

He now sits on the plush couch in one of the mansion's formal living rooms in front of the fire that crackles and blooms in the fireplace. His feet stretch out in front of him, crossed at the ankles on a coffee tables and covered by a snuggly warm blanket. Curled on the couch beside Roxas, Sora's feet rest in Roxas' lap, of which Roxas uses to hold up the latest book he's indulged in. Artemis is lying on the floor next to Sora, whose fingers stroke the dog's still soft ears.

Vanitas is seated in an armchair, his feet dangling over the edge of one cushioned arm; arms folded and his head resting back, eyes closed. The light of the fire glows on his skin, and Roxas can't help but think the glint in his hair makes him look stunning.

Sora takes a sip of his tea and frowns. "Can't we get some servant to bring us some treats?"

Roxas raises and eyebrow. "You could get up and get one yourself. You _are_ a servant."

He kicks Roxas in the ribs with a sock-covered foot. "I've long since retired my work in exchange for a more, rigorous work ethic. All I'm saying is that I'd like some chocolate cake every now and then."

Roxas closes his eyes. "And then you'll want an apple tart, and a loaf of bread, and a pot of stew, and a mountain of cookies, and a –" Roxas chuckles as Sora puts his foot against his face and pushes. Roxas grabs Sora's foot and won't let go when he tries yanking his leg back. "It's true, and you know it, _Porcupine_."

"So what if it is? Haven't I earned the right to eat as much as I want, whenever I want?" Sora wretches his foot out of Roxas' grasp as the smile fades from his face.

"Yes," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "You have."

After a few moments of silence, Roxas stands up and walks to the door.

Sora sits up on his elbows. "Where are you going?"

Vanitas' eyes flutter open and he grunts as he rubs his eyes from the disturbance. But thankfully he simply rolls over on his side to face the chair and grows still in a matter of seconds.

Roxas opens the door. "To get you chocolate cake."

When he returns, and after they'd both eaten half of the cake he'd swiped from the kitchens, Sora lies on the couch, a hand on his full belly. Roxas is already sprawled across the cushions, sleeping soundly. Staying up until the middle of the night reading, then awakening for his sunrise run this morning had bene exhausting. Why didn't he just sleep in?

Vanitas is awake now, scribbling his charcoal pen on the page of his sketchbook he recently started filling. Sora had discovered Vanitas' drawing ability when he was gathering laundry and found Vanitas' desk covered in papers with rough sketches of landscapes and still images of the men. Xigbar and Luxord sitting at the table on the back porch playing a game of cards, Artemis with a smile on her face standing in a field of daisies, and Roxas sleeping in his bed, the angle of light made the blonde assassin look just as handsome as he is in real life. Vanitas' pencil quickly jerks back and forth and then twitches its way down the page.

As he scribbles, Vanitas lokos over to Roxas and thinks back to a distant conversation he had with another one of the servants of the glass castle back in Traverse Town. They had gotten into the topic of the court and council of the kings of Kingdom Hearts.

 _You know, the courts weren't always like this_ , she had said. _There was a time when people valued honor and loyalty – when serving a ruler wasn't about obedience and fear . . . do you think anther court like that could ever rise again_?

Vanitas hadn't given her an answer. He didn't want to talk about it. But looking at Roxas now, at the man he is, and the man he is still becoming . . .

 _Yes_ , Vanitas thought. _Yes. It could rise again, if we could find more men like him_.

To think, a court with the King of Ivalice and the Kings of all of the provinces of Kingdom hearts together. That court could undo the damage of a decade of brutality and terror; it could restore the lands ravaged by conquest and renew the hearts of the kingdoms that shattered when Hollow Bastion marched in.

And in that world . . . Vanitas swallowed hard. He and Roxas could never be normal boys, but perhaps in that world, they could each make a life of their own. Roxas _wanted_ that life. Because even though he pretends there is nothing anymore between them, something is still there. And maybe is had taken Vanitas this long to realize it, but this man – he wants that life _with_ him.

The world that Ventus, that Demyx, that Sora dream about, and the world Vanitas sometimes dares let himself consider, is nothing more than a shred of hope and memory of what the kingdoms had once been. But perhaps . . .

Flicking his eyes over to Sora, he clears his throat when he finds the young boy watching with a small smile. Vanitas clears his throat and sighs, resuming his sketching. Sora tries his best to hide his smile as he shifts his positions, careful not to disturb Roxas.

As he turns his head to the blonde assassin, for once looking as young as he is, Sora leans over to brush his fingers through Roxas' golden hair, then graze them alone his cheek.

Sora snuggles himself more into the blanket he and Roxas are sharing and reopens the book he had been reading before their devouring of the cake.

Upstairs, the antique grandfather clock ticks quietly as Reno sits in the armchair posted at Axel's bedside. Since he and Roxas cancelled their training at the temple ruins due to weather, the day has been rather relaxing. Reno spent most of it in his study pouring over the files of the salve trade, and then going up to Axel's room to do his part of the daily checkup routine he shares with Roxas. Reno had killed some time by massaging Axel's legs and feet to ensure no joint tightening or loos of weight.

Axel's been doing well, and it would seem that he's growing more perceptive with his sense. There's slight movement under his eyelids and the occasional twitch of his fingers. Any signs of movement is an improvement.

Now Reno sits beside his brother after he changed Axel into a fresh tunic and wiped down his arms, neck and legs. Reno would so make Axel pay for this if and _when_ he did wake up. He fidgets with the rings on his fingers as he lets the stillness of the room surround him.

He then quietly chuckles. "You know, I give you credit brother." He starts quietly. "You finally found a good one. And a cute one at that. No more low-rent whores or high-class courtesans anymore, huh? I'm proud of you."

Axel's breathing is steady, his skin so smooth in his relaxed state. There's a hint of a smile on his lips.

"The boy is . . . interesting, I'll tell you that. But gods . . . he's one of the toughest sons-of-bitches I've seen, and he's a real trooper. And really stubborn, so he's perfect for you." Reno chuckles.

"I remember when we were kids, you always dreamed of changing the world. You always followed your own heart and your own beat. How much I admired that. I never had your confidence, but I'd like to think I'm slowly making my way towards it. But I don't think you're changing the world like you wanted. And I so want you to. You have so much to offer." The words choke Reno. "Please, Axel. I'm begging you, please wake up."

Reno reaches out and grasps his brother long and thin fingernails. He brings the hand up and places his lips on the knuckles.

"You had always said we would face the world together. Please, you made me a promise. You have to keep it for me." Reno whispers. "For us. For Roxas."

There's a flutter of movement under Axel's eyes.

As Sora turns the page to his book, Roxas now lying on his back, mostly awake, Vanitas sitting upright in the armchair and propping the sketchbook on his thighs. The crackling of the fire is soothing and eating away at the logs. And then they hear the shout.

"Roxas!"

Instantly the blonde's head pops up with eyes wide, Artemis scrambles up with her ears erect forward. First Roxas looks to Sora, and then Sora looks to Vanitas as if each of them are asking the other if they had heard the scream. And then –

" _Roxas, get up here_!"

The sentence had barely finished when Roxas scrambles up from the couch, nearly kicking Sora in the jaw. Vanitas sets aside his sketches and Sora his book as they hurry after him. Artemis had taken off seconds before Roxas and leaps her way up the steps.

Roxas hits the stairs, taking them by twos and threes. His steps are so smooth he seems to glide as he follows Artemis, who is nothing more than ablur of gold. Roxas hits the top of the stairs, his breath barely lost his heart steady but mind racing.

That was Reno who shouted, and Roxas couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement.

He turns down the familiar hallway and finds Artemis already at the familiar wooden doors, barking and scratching as it is shut.

Roxas sets his hand on the hilt of the dagger at his waist as he reaches the door; keeping in mind to turn the knob instead of breaking through the locks.

Artemis slips her way inside through the tiniest of crevice when he opens it, and Roxas follows her inside to the middle of the room. Roxas half-expects to find blood everywhere with mutilated bodies and broken windows.

But when he beholds the room . . .

Artemis' tail is wagging and she is wining with happiness as she tries to find a way to hop up onto the mattress. The world slows but Roxas' heart suddenly jumps to jackrabbit speed.

His vision narrows until all he can see is the bed while Vanitas and Sora fan their way into the room. He can hear Sora gasp.

Roxas can see a pair of emerald green eyes with curved tattoos gleaming at him, a smile on their lips. And on the bed . . .

On the bed . . .

There's one eye that has the same shine as an emerald . . . and one that looks like the green if behind frosted glass. The two reverse teardrop tattoos seem deeper with color, and they point down to those lips – those perfectly full, soft lips that stretch back to show those gleaming white teeth. Roxas can hear Sora sniffle.

"Axel." Roxas breathes.

The chuckle that comes from those pink lips reverberates through his entire body even with the distance to him and the bed.

He finds himself staring into those unique eyes, swimming with happiness and slight drowsiness. The assassin nearly sinks to his knees.

"Hey Roxas."


	16. Chapter 15

"We've been here for _three months_? I've bene out _that long_?" Axel asks as Zexion presses the diaphragm the stethoscope to Axel's chest.

"You had us worried sick, Axel." Sora says as he stands at the edge of the bed. "Roxas never left your side. He barely slept."

Axel casts a glance over to the blonde as he sits in the plush armchair hugging his knees. The blonde catches him and smiles, his cheeks turning pink before he angles his cheek into his kneecap smiling.

After Roxas barged through the doors to his room, he simply stared at Axel until Axel said something. And then, in a flash of gold, Roxas was one the bed and his arms were around Axel's neck, his body shaking from sobs masked with laughter. Despite the pain that lanced through his chest and shoulders, Axel embraced Roxas, wrapping his arms around the blonde and burying his face into his shoulder. He smelled so fresh and clean, and – gods, his body was firmer and more muscled than ever.

Reno had tried to pry Roxas loose, to no avail. All Roxas had to do was merely hiss at him and Reno backed off with raised hands. Axel chuckled despite the slight disturbance on how . . . real, that hiss had sounded. Fanged and guttural like a cat.

The rest of the men of the mansion flooded into Axel's room, less than he had expected. Zack, Luxord, Xigbar, Sora, Vanitas, Zexion, and Riku.

As Zexion checks Axel's eyes, Roxas keeps a constant vigilance, and Vanitas tells Axel the story. After he was knocked out from the battle with Tifa, they needed to escape in the fear that Tifa would peruse Roxas. Cloud and the Guild Masters have disbanded their guilds to aid the King in cleansing Twilight Town and its fearsome reputation. Any Guild Leaders who didn't agree were banned from the city, or hunted down and executed; because prison wouldn't hold them. Headless to say not many of the others were sad to see any of them go, but still, some form of a relationship was built between them.

Halfway through Vanitas' explanation, Roxas moved from the armchair to sliding himself into the bed to sit next to Axel while Zexion asked Axel to fist his hands and wriggle his fingers, to check for efficient motor control.

And then Roxas took over the story, to everyone's surprise. Axel has an odd feeling about that; something just felt off from the way the men were treating Roxas. What had happened?

Still, Roxas tells Axel that he and Reno have been training every day at the temple ruins, honing Roxas' shifting ability, and hopefully soon, his magic. He explains to Axel about the small contracts and investigations he and Reno had been doing and the letter from his father, and how they fear that Tifa and her Faceless might be trying to invade Ivalice.

The whole thing is shocking, exciting and nerve-wrecking. And Axel can tell that Reno might've been putting Roxas through the ringer with the training. He never expected his brother to be so . . . severe. And that only brings his thoughts back to what might've happened to Roxas to make them seem, different. It's just a feeling, and Roxas is bound to tell him in private, hopefully.

Finally the time has come for Axel to get out of bed. Zexion first has him bend his knees under the covers, and then they pull them back to check his toes and they seem fine. His legs don't feel heavier or stiff.

Roxas eases himself to the edge of the bed, ready for Axel to fall. But after a deep breath, Axel pushes off the mattress. After a small teetering and everyone's hands reaching out ready to catch, Axel manages to stand up straight. Zexion has him walk across the room and back; and yes, after a few embarrassing and worrying stumbles, Axel manages to regain his posture and feel his legs finally loosening and regaining their strength.

Some of the men disperse, leaving Vanitas, Sora and Roxas and Reno as Axel continues to pace his room, stretch his legs and stretch his arms. After doing some jumping jacks and a few pushups – Reno keeping the boys distracted – Axel makes it over to his closet and trifles through his shirts.

Somehow, Reno has kept things up to date with Axel's aging as the shirts and tunics aren't like back at his parents' house where they still have his closet filled with the clothes of when he was a child.

No, Reno has kept Axel's closet up to date and in style. Practically the entire closet is different from the past couple of years that Axel has missed in visiting his brother. Stepping into the length of his closets, on his left is his tunics and on his right are pants, and in the very back is a shoe rack. Axel traces his fingers along the sleeves of the tunics from short to long, feeling the different fabrics.

Gazing around the closet, Axel settles on a low-cut white tunic with crossed ties at the neck and green pants. Looking at the show rack, Axel chuckles as he sees that even after so many years, Reno has managed to save and refit Axel's favorite pair of brown leather boots. He would wear those boots almost every day because he would run straight from school down to the docks to watch the sailors.

Adding a belt and slipping into his boots, Axel sighs. They feel just as they did when he was young. Leaving the closet, Axel makes his way into the small bathroom and cobs through his hair. It looks like his hair had been struck by electricity, making it poke out all over. Giving his teeth a well-deserved brushing and his face a cool washing of water, Axel leaves the chamber and gives his room a quick survey. Everything is set the same; his desk in the same corner; his dresser and wardrobe together along one wall; his bed set adjacent to the widow so that he can see the sunset.

And with each piece of furniture he sees, Axel is already finding himself deciding which piece would be best for him and Roxas to . . .

Shaking his head, Axel clears his throat as he makes his way back over to the bed. Reno and the boys are still there and Reno is the first to notice him. Roxas hasn't left the bed, but gods – he just looks so much, older. His features are sharper, his eyes seemingly shining more and his posture. He just looks different, and incredibly sexy.

"Hey, there he is! That's the brother I know and love." Reno bellows with joy.

Axel wanders over, spreading his arms as Reno rises from his seat and they embrace one another with pats on the back. Axel gives Sora a hug too with a nice back rub, Vanitas another pat. And when it comes to Roxas . . . well, there's only so much control Axel has between hugging and kissing and simply just pinning Roxas to the bed.

But even with the company, Roxas goes over to Axel and holds Axel's face in his hands before kissing him. The kiss is as warm and as passionate as Axel remembers, and it takes all of his self-control not to strip off all of the clothes he just put on. Thankfully, or perhaps not, Roxas pulls away and settles his head in Axel's chest. Axel kisses the top of Roxas' head and breathes in his familiar scent of lavender and dew drops.

"Well, then," Sora chimes. "We'll just leave you two alone, and maybe Roxas, you can show Axel around town?"

Roxas smiles at Sora and Vanitas and Reno take the hint and with chuckles and smiles, they leave the two be.

Roxas turns to Axel and they both smile at one another, exchange awkward but comforting laughter. Finally, Axel walks over to the blonde and just stop in front of him. Incredible, Roxas has at least gained a couple inches in the three months they've been in Lesalia, now doubt from Reno's training. He had said how Roxas has now been able to shift on command, but Axel isn't sure if he still wants to see it. The last time he had seen Roxas in his Elven form . . .

Shaking his head, Axel lifts his hands and holds Roxas' head in his hands. He brushes his thumb along the smooth skin on Roxas' cheek. It feels, tighter somehow, or possibly looser . . .? Like how leather or rope gets when it's constantly stretched and released. Still, beforehand, just the tip of Roxas' hair could reach Axel's chin, and now . . . Roxas has grown and few inches to the point where he can now rest his chin on Axel's shoulder when they hug. They're still not the same height, but Axel is still amazed to see how the boy's grown.

"So," Axel purrs. "Would you rather spend this time kissing, or walk around the marketplace?"

Roxas bites his lower lip and smiles. He tilts his head upwards, brushing the tips of their noses together and then kissing Axel's lips ever so gently.

"Now that's not nice." Axel growls. He immediately sets his hands on Roxas' hips and pulls him against his body. His lips instantly find the skin on Roxas' neck and the assassin giggles as he coils his arms around Axel's neck, his fingers entangling in Axel's hair.

He allows Axel to trace and nibble and lick the skin along his neck, along his jawline, along his ear. Then finally, before Roxas decides to rip off Axel's newly acquired clothes, he pulls away. "Maybe we should take that walk, there's still a lot I need to talk to you about." Roxas says.

Axel gives a gentle smile and kisses Roxas' forehead. "Alright."

"Plus it'll help you stretch your legs." Roxas adds.

While Roxas leaves to change his clothes, the weather has cleared to a simple overcast and is inviting enough that several townsfolk have emerged from their homes to explore the stalls and shops that are open.

Axel grabs a quick meal that Sora puts together – a simple plate of eggs, two slices of toast and a cup of tea. After gobbling it all down after weeks of food and hydration injected into him, it is nice to eat real food again. He then grabs an old jacket and shrugs it over his shoulders while Roxas simply grabbed a cloak and clasped it around his shoulders. They meet by the front door, a deep blue tunic and grey pants under Roxas' cloak as well as a few small daggers. Granting their goodbyes to the house, the two leave.

They make their way down to the marketplace and buy a couple bags of candy and snacks before they wander off towards the city's park. The park is as big as the park back at the glass castle in Traverse Town. There's a fountain that marks as the epicenter of the park and a river courses its way around no doubt leading to a lake. Benches are speckled about, under trees, by the waterside, in a field of flowers.

They decide to take one under the veiled shelter of a weeping willow. For some reason, Roxas just knew that Axel was going to ask him to shift at one point or another. No doubt he wanted to see Roxas' control. Roxas has already finished one bag of the hazelnut truffles they had gotten from the candy shop, Axel reprimanding his right when Roxas gulfed halfway through the second bag.

Sitting under the shade, the vines whispering in the breeze and the water glittering from the light of the sun, Axel drapes an arm behind Roxas and the assassin leans his head in to Axel's shoulder.

"So, you want to tell me what I missed?" Axel softly asks. A bird chirps above their head, and another far off in another tree answers.

Roxas sighs and lifts his head. He adjusts his seat, angling himself to that he's facing Axel and tucks one leg under himself. "Gods, when I start, you're going to have a lot of comments and questions."

"Roxas,"

"I'll be honest, things weren't too good. And by the time I'm done, you'll say you were glad you were asleep." says Roxas.

"Roxas," Axel hushes. "Just tell me."

Sighing through his mouth, Roxas casts a glance to the water. He starts from the very beginning.

Roxas tells Axel about how his father had brought him to Ventus' grave that Lexaeus had set up himself and about the oath that Roxas had made to Ventus before they departed from Kingdom Hearts. He tells Axel about how he had spent well over the first two weeks of their first month of arrival just wasting his time drinking and eating flatbread. He tells Axel about how he had little to no ambition to do anything, and literally, just spent his days melted against the rooftops of the townhouses and shops and the mansion. He talks about the forced bath by Vanitas, Reno's suggesting to harvesting his shifting and his Elven skills, and then about Roxas absolute refusal. He then talks about their training, their fights, the failure, and then the skinwalkers, and then finally bringing it to and end with the news of the slave trade that Roxas, Vanitas and Riku were going to be sent out to ruin.

At the end of it, Axel's soft expression didn't waver, he didn't give Roxas a disappointed look for drinking endless and unhealthy amounts of wine. He simply gives an upturn of one corner of his mouth and sets his hand behind Roxas' head. He pushes Roxas closer and their lips meet in a kiss.

Their lips mold and morph together like perfectly fit puzzle pieces. Roxas slides closer, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and rest his hands on Axel's chest. To feel his heartbeat again. To feel his protective arms around him again. Axel tugs Roxas close enough that Roxas is in his lap. They keep kissing and kissing and kissing, relishing in the feel and the taste of one another.

When they finally part, Roxas is breathing slightly heavy and he's hold Axel's face once more. Axel's hands, familiar as they were three months ago, drift along Roxas' back. One rests between Roxas' shoulder blades and the other just resting on his waist.

"Gods, how I've missed you." Roxas whispers, his eyes fluttered shut. Another kiss.

Axel groans with pleasure. "I've missed you too."

"You're not disappointed, upset?" Roxas asks. For the first time in forever, Axel can see that innocence and vulnerability in Roxas that he still has, even after so many years of blood and shadows and deception. And then having it bolted behind those walls of anger and that deepening hollow silence. It's a miracle Roxas can actually feel so comfortable with Axel to even _be_ vulnerable.

"No, of course not. In fact, I can understand it. I know things must've been hard, and I wish I could've been there to help you. But to see you come out of that . . . I guess darkness, it's incredible and I am so proud of you." Axel says grasping Roxas' chin. "Know that."

"I don't know if I'm, actually back. Honestly I don't think I ever will be." Roxas sighs. "But, I guess with you, we can make it back together?"

Axel looks down at Roxas' hand and finds the gold band he had given him still encircled round his finger. And then there' the tattoo of the Celtic tree of life.

Taking the assassin's hand, Axel brings the fingers to his lips in a soft kiss. "Together."

Roxas smiles.

"So, after all that you have been through and all that I have missed, will you do me the honor of showing me your control of your shifting?" Axel winks.

Roxas rolls his eyes and eases back against the bench.

"Come on, _Roxy_." Axel nudges, making Roxas chuckle from the silly nickname. "I've been asleep for months now, the least you could do is grant me the honor of seeing your beautiful Elven face."

Giving another, though more exaggerated roll of his eyes, Roxas smiles as he gives another laugh. Exhaling, Roxas scoots slightly away from Axel and closes his eyes. He takes a few breaths and makes sure to push through that shimmering veil quickly to lessen the pain. It hasn't worked yet, and Roxas gives a slight grunt as his skin prickles. But all in all, he blinks his eyes and immediately his vision is clearer and his ears point. He can smell everything around them and in the air: from the smell of the baked goods all the way back in the market, to the smell of the water and the muck beneath it to the slime on the scales of the fishes swimming beneath it.

Blinking a couple more times, Roxas flicks his tongue over the tips of his elongated canines and looks to Axel. His eyes are wide, but thankfully there's no kind of fear etched on his face.

For a moment, all Axel can do is stare at Roxas in his full-fledged Elven form.

It didn't occur to him until now that he never really got a good look at Roxas in his Elven form until now. Every other time he was snarling and hissing and leaping all over the place, massacring people left and right. But now . . .

Now, he can see Roxas as the full-fledged, powerful and unearthly beautiful creature that he is. His feature are sharper but soft, smooth and his eyes blink with a slow grace like a cat. His nostrils flare delicately, as if is –

Roxas is getting a whiff of Axel's scent.

Axel takes in some satisfaction in knowing that he at least smells good, but it wasn't that smell Roxas is reading. No, it is the scent that deciphers his true emotions hidden by the mask of features – the smell of his fear and sweat.

He also notices how Roxas is suddenly staring at him with a stillness that only an immortal can achieve. Axel doesn't mind his rapidly beating heart or his uneven breaths, he knows that this time it's not from fear. Roxas can probably hear them, can probably smell every astonished emotion coursing through Axel.

"Well?" Roxas purrs, his voice deeper and slow. He gives a slight smile, pulling his lips back far enough to show his canines.

"Wow." Axel breathes. "That's . . . incredible."

"You're not afraid."

It isn't a question, it's a statement. And Axel can tell it pleases Roxas to solidify that Axel is no longer afraid of Roxas' Elven heritage. Even though he has now getting the hand of his shifting, Reno says that he still needs to harness his power.

His power of fire. Axel can remember that. Those silver flames that devoured nearly an entire district of Twilight Town –

Axel quickly banishes the thought before Roxas can pick his different scent. He can't really say that Roxas has _mastered_ his shift, because they both know that Roxas still has a lot to learn; what that involves, Axel doesn't know, but Reno does and if he can help Roxas, Axel doesn't want to argue.

Instead, he smiles and takes Roxas' face in his hands once more. When he kisses Roxas this time, it feels different. Not only because Axel can feel the tips of Roxas' fangs, but there's something more passionate about it, more urgent and rough. It's like Roxas has bene holding back in his human form, and now that he is in Elven, it's like there's no holding him back.

And _gods_ , did it feel _good_.

Pulling back, Roxas smiles and licks one of his fangs. "Well?" he repeats.

"I've always wanted to do that." Axel smiles back like a fiend.

Without uttering a word, Roxas shifts back into his human form and unfortunately his head pounds for a few seconds. Still, he manages to chuckle as he looks to Axel.

"I'm so proud of you, Roxas."

"Thank you. Hopefully for now, things will get easier."

Roxas leans his head against Axel's shoulder and together they watch the water's rippling surface.

They make it back to the mansion three hours later. They had spent their time talking and kissing and laughing and eating. Admittedly, Roxas did have a bit of an upset stomach from scarfing down all of those truffles, but he has no regrets.

"This is total horseshit." Axel whines as they mount the steps to the mansion. The windows are thrown open because of the gorgeous chilling breeze that wafts in from the ocean, giving more purity to the fresh air of the summer's afternoon. "I finally wake up from a three month coma, only to have my lover be sent out to Knave's Bay?"

Roxas laugh as they hang their cloak and jacket on the rack. His lips are swollen from all of the kissing they did at the park, and he still has woodchip stuck to his back from their . . . detour into the woods. "I'm sorry, Axel. It would've been much shorter if I was going alone, but because this is a big job, I need Riku and Vanitas with me."

Axel sighs, wrapping his arm around Roxas as they enter the formal living room. Inside they find Sora and Artemis on the couch, a book Roxas had lent to Sora open in his hand while the other pets the dog's head.

"Your travels there alone will be at least three weeks close to a month." says Axel.

Sora merely chuckles as Axel plops down into one of the armchairs, Artemis getting up from her spot next to Sora in order to greet Axel with warming licks. Axel wipes his chin and kisses the dog's head.

"I'm sorry." Roxas says.

"Oh, so you finally figured out how long you're going to be gone?" Sora asks as he marks the page he was on and sets it aside on the table.

"Unfortunately." Roxas says as he sits down next to Sora.

"And it sucks!" Axel chimes.

"Well on the bright side you can help around the house." Sora says.

Axel tilts his head up and with the straightest face he says, "Is that supposed to make me feel better."

Roxas had figured that he can run most of the land terrain across Ordallia; that would consume at least eight to nine hours in a day, from there it would be a mere handful of more hours travel towards Knave's Bay for the slave trade, but Reno had said the job required an extra set of hands, and so Roxas didn't argue when Riku and Vanitas volunteered. In a way, he understood, he doesn't know what they've bene up to while he and Reno trained nearly every day up at the temple ruins. And Roxas knows how much Vanitas hates just sitting around the house. Maybe he found some time to hunt and trade at the market. As for Riku . . . well, he and Sora both seemed to be in strangely good moods lately.

Sora and Roxas laugh and the servant boy pushes to his feet. "It's good to have you back." The boy steps around Roxas' legs and heads for the kitchen. "I'm getting some drinks, you guys want anything?"

"Lemonade, please." Axel says with a simple raise of his finger.

"I'm okay." says Roxas. When Sora disappears behind the swinging door to the kitchen, Roxas looks back to Axel, with Artemis now lying on his stomach. Roxas laughs as Artemis's tail wagging like she was guilty of something. Artemis stretches out between Axel and Roxas – and giving Roxas a few kicks with her hind legs in the process. Roxas gets up from his seat and goes over to kneel down next to Axel with a smile. "I'll be back as soon as we can. We'll probably be done with it in a day." Roxas assures.

"But you'll still be away." Axel continues to whine.

Roxas rolls his eyes and stands. "When did you become so needy?" Artemis hops down from Axel and the captain pushes up to a sitting position. He watches the blond walk around the couch. He traces a finger along the top of the cushion. "Well, if you insist on being so negative, I suppose I'll have no choice but to devote all of my time to you before I go. Just so you're . . . satisfied."

Axel almost growls with lust when he sees the mischief in Roxas' eyes. The captain rises from his seat on the couch. As he rounds to follow Roxas, Sora comes out with his glass of lemonade. Axel quickly makes his way over to the servant boy, thanking him briefly before following Roxas.

They make it back to Roxas' room and quickly undress one another before collapsing onto the bed. To feel their hands on one another again, it was riveting. To kiss his skin and to have those hands grope his tender tush, Roxas almost feels like a wild beast ready to pounce. Roxas doesn't doubt that Axel wants to do it while Roxas is in his Elven form, but Roxas thinks that could be too risky. Still, they do it probably five times in Roxas' room alone, and each in a different place. In the bed, on the desk, against the wall, in the bathroom. Roxas is going to have to talk to Sora about a lubricant ointment soon.

They make it back to the bed, and after another hour of talking and another of talking, at six o'clock in the evening, Roxas finally manages to detangle himself from Axel, now halfway asleep in his bed and grabs his pants . . . from halfway across the room.

Dressing himself as best as he can, Roxas takes Axel's shirt and leaves the room as he shrugs it on. Holding the door open for Artemis, he makes his way down the hallway to Reno's study. Reno's room is on the way towards the study, so if he isn't in his room, the study is the only other place he can be.

Roxas does a couple of polite knocks before opening the door. Peering his head inside, Roxas finds the redhead sitting at his large desk in front of the window.

At the sound of the door opening, Reno peers up and smiles. "Hey, Roxas. Things going okay?"

"Pretty good." Roxas bashfully says as she shuts the door to the study behind him.

"Looks like it." Reno grins. Roxas doesn't have to look in a mirror to know of the bruises on his neck Axle had given him. Embarrassed as he is, Roxas is more focused on monitoring his stature as he walks; his bum feeling a bit sore –

Shaking his head, Roxas smiles, taking things in stride as he takes a seat in one of the armchairs. "So, are things ready for our departure?"

"Yep," Reno confirms, leaning back in his chair. "And you'll be happy to know that I managed to find a boat that would personally take you to the Deist Isles, at noon."

"You spoke to Tidus?"

"Well, that ruins the moment of glory, but yes."

Roxas laughs as Reno taps the papers on his large desk in line. Roxas can feel the shift in Reno before the redhead even says a word, like a current in the air somehow chills. Roxas angles his head down to gain Reno's eyes. "What's wrong?"

Reno runs a hand over his face, resting his elbow on the desk and letting out a deep breath. "The King of Kerwon has asked King Sephiroth to speak to the rebel forces. To convince them to back down. Or else the King of Kerwon will butcher them all."

"He threatened to do that?"

"Not directly, but it was implied."

"So why are _you_ worried?" Roxas asks.

Another long breath. "I have men – friends – who are rebels, men who are of high rankings in the forces and loyal followers of our king. They trust me as much as they do the king, maybe even more. Now that we have the Guilds on our side, or on the side of good, the rising threat of war from Kerwon is slowly growing in Ivalice. And we fear that they may be working with your mother and her Faceless; and for quite a while now. At the end of the month, the King of Kerwon is sending his right hand duke to the keep in Yensa Sandsea. I don't doubt for one minute that he wants him at the southern border so he can monitor things. So if the duke decides the rebels need to be dealt with, he has permission to use whatever force is necessary to put them down."

Roxas leans forward in his seat, folding on leg beneath him. Artemis resting her head on his lap. "So you're going out to Ordallia?"

Reno shakes his head. "I don't know. I need to be here. There are . . . there are things that I need to do here. In the castle and in this city. I cannot abandon the king's people to another massacre."

"Can the king or his own generals deal with the rebels?"

"His generals lack certain . . . qualities, and the king has enough on his hands with the Faceless rumored to be in Ivalice already." Reno turns towards the window and stands. Roxas stands to, rounding the desk to Reno's side. "I knew the dangers and hardships that come with joining the king and his cause. I knew that I would someday have to make choices that would haunt me." Reno looks to Roxas with glittering eyes, and then cups his forehead in a palm. "I didn't think it would be this hard."

Roxas' chest tightens, and he puts a hand on Reno's back. No wonder Reno had been so caught up in scrolls and journals while they were training. Shame colors Roxas' cheeks.

"What will I do, Roxas, if he kills those people? What will I do if he decides to set an example by bothering everyone in Mythril? How can I turn my back on them?"

Roxas has no answer. He's spent week lost in thoughts of Axel and his heritage. Reno had spent his weeks trying to balance the fate of the kingdom of Valendia.

Reno takes Roxas' hands. "Promise me," he says, his green eyes shining. "Promise me that you'll help me free Galtea and aid the king."

Ice shoots through Roxas' veins. "Aid the king? Free Galtea?"

"Promise me that you'll help the king in freeing the kingdoms. That you'll see their people returned from Gollund and Mythril."

"I'm just an assassin." Roxas pulls his hand out of Reno's. "And the king of thing you're talking about, Reno . . ." Roxas walks around to the other side of the desk. "That would be madness."

"There is no other way. Your mother _must_ be stopped. And with you helping the king, we could start to gather a host to –"

" _No_." Reno blinks, but Roxas shakes his head. "No," he repeats. "Not for all the world would I help the king muster any army against another political party. Galtea has been hit hard by the King of Kerwon, but you barely got a taste of the king's brutality he unleashed elsewhere. You raise a force against him, and he'll butcher you all. I won't be a part of that."

"So what will you be a part of, _Roxas Skyes_." Reno follows Roxas around, snarling Roxas' name like it gives a fowl taste in his mouth. "Your father has already taken course. What will you stand for? Or will you only stand for yourself?"

His throat aches, but Roxas forces the words out. "Your King Sephiroth has no idea what sort of things the King of Kerwon can do to you, Reno. To _his_ people."

"He massacred seven hundred rebels and their families!"

"And he destroyed an _entire_ kingdom! You daydream about the power and honor of Valendia's royal court once had, yet you don't realize what it means that the king was able to destroy them. They were the strongest court on the continent – they were the strongest court on any continent, and he killed them all."

"He had the element of surprise." Reno counters.

The King of Kerwon is the son of the Dark Lord Xehanort; the man who had invaded into the other kingdoms of Ivalice and ordered the slaughter of the Elves, back when they had ruled over the courts and kingdoms. Same rule for Kingdom Hearts; all of the elves in rule were executed. And since his father's passing he has since been pushing his borders to lengths that are unbelievable. He has managed to take down forces with such brutality. His cruelty unimaginable. For some reason, the connection between him and the murder of Roxas' mysterious Elven relatives seems, tangible. And the memory scares Roxas.

"And now he has an army that numbers in _millions_. There is nothing that can be done."

"When will you say _enough_ , Roxas? What will make you stop running and face what is before you? If the plight of your people or even your _father_ cannot move you, what will?"

"I am _one person_."

"One person who hones gifts from the gods – one person whose brow burned a sacred mark on the day you battled against your mother! One person who, despite the odds, is still breathing. You think you came here to seek freedom? No, our paths crossed for a reason. If you are not gods-blessed, then who is?"

"This is ridiculous. This is folly."

"Folly? Folly to fight for what is right, for people who cannot stand up for themselves? You think soldiers are the worst he can send?" Reno's tone softens. "There are far darker things gathering on the horizon. My dreams are filled with shadows and wings – the booming of wings soaring between mountain passes. And every scout and spy we send into The Deadlands, into The Orient, _does not come back_. Do you know what the people say in the valleys below? They say they can hear roars, too, riding the winds through the Gap."

"I don't understand what you're saying." But Roxas has seen the Heartless.

Reno stalks to Roxas, grabbing him by the wrists. "You do understand. When you looked at your mother, you sense that there was a greater, twisted power around her. And how could such a man conquer so much of the continent so quickly? With military alone? How is it that Valendia's court fell so quickly back then, when its retainers had bene trained for generations of warriors? How did the most powerful court in the world get wiped out in a matter of days?"

"You're tired and upset." Roxas says as calmly as he can, trying not to think of how similar Reno and his father's words are. Roxas shakes off the redhead's grip. "Maybe we should talk about this later –"

"I don't want to talk about it later!"

Artemis whines, wedging herself between them.

"If we do not strike now," Reno goes on. "then whatever your mother is brewing for the king will only grow more powerful. And then we will be beyond any chance of hope."

"There is no hope." Roxas says. "There is no hope in standing against my mother, _and_ her kingly lapdog. Not now, not ever." That was the truth Roxas had slowly been realizing. If Reno and his father are right about this mysterious power source, then how can they even overthrow her? "I barely escaped with my life, and the life of Axel. And I will not be a part of whatever plan you have. I will not help you get yourself and your brother killed, and bring down even more innocent people in the process."

"You will not help because all you care about is _yourself_."

"And so what if I do?" Roxas splays his arms. "So what if I want to spend the rest of my life in peace? With _Axel_!"

"There can never be any peace – not while your mother lives. When you said you were fleeing from Kingdom Hearts, I thought it was because . . . I thought it was because you were finally taking a step towards making a stand. I thought that when the time came, I could count on you to help me start planning. I didn't realize that you were doing it just to keep you own conscience clean!"

"I did it to keep you brother alive!"

Roxas begins to storming towards the door.

Reno clicks his tongue. "I didn't realize that you're just a coward."

Roxas looks over his shoulder. "Say that again."

Reno doesn't flinch. "You're a coward. You are nothing more than a coward."

Roxas' hands clench into fists. "When the king's people are lying dead at his feet, by your hands, don't come crying to me."

He doesn't give the redhead a chance to reply before he stalks out of the room. Artemis close on his heels.


	17. Chapter 16

"One of them has to break." The redhead says to the assassin. "Only then can it begin."

"I know." The assassin says softly. "But the king isn't ready. It has to be him."

"Then do you understand what I am asking of you?"

The assassin looks up, towards the shaft of moonlight spilling into the window of the study. When he looks back at the green-eyed redhead, his ember-gold eyes are bright. "Yes."

"Then do what needs to be done."

The assassin nods and walks out of the study. He pauses on the threshold, the darkness beyond beckoning him, and turns back to the man. "He won't understand. And when he goes over the edge, there will be nothing to pull him back."

"He will find his way back. He always does."

Tears form, but the assassin blinks them away. "For all our sakes, I hope you're right."


	18. Chapter 17

Despite their argument, Reno still showed up at Roxas' room at noon the next morning to bring him to the Sun Goddess's temple. But this time, once they reached the ruins, Reno brought Roxas to a lake not too far. He kept things professional, maybe a little too professional, as he explained to Roxas of a muscle behind Roxas' turquoise eyes that can pull down a clear film that can shield his vision from water and wind, like an alligator or a bird. A Nictitating Membrane.

The nictitating membrane is a transparent or translucent third eyelid present in some animals that can be drawn across the eye for protection and to moisten it while maintaining visibility. Some reptiles, birds, and sharks have full nictitating membranes; in many mammals, a small, vestigial portion of the membrane remains in the corner of the eye. Some mammals, such as camels, polar bears, seals and aardvarks, have full nictitating membranes. Often called a third eyelid or haw, it may be referred to in scientific terminology as the _plica semilunaris, membrana nictitans_ or _palpebra tertia_.

Without it, Roxas would swim or if ever fly like mortals, squinting and streaming tears all over the place.

It can only be accessed while Roxas was in his Elven form, so after he shifted, it took several tries of Roxas' face turning red trying to get it to slide into place. But even so, it merely takes the blinking of his eyes, and the muscles behind his eye pull down the clear film. Roxas allowed himself to adjust to the thickness of the extra lid; and unfortunately he couldn't help think if that is how Axel sees out of his left eye that got ruined by the venom of the demon they fought in the basement of the glass castle.

After hours of swimming in the lake, growing accustomed to the third eyelid, and hours repeatedly pulling it down over his eyes until it's like an instinctive habit, they made their trek back to the mansion at evening twilight.

The next morning, the day of their departure, Roxas skipped his dawn run in favor for staying in bed with Axel. But once the clock had struck nine in the morning, Roxas had to get out of bed. Reno wanted them at the docks by nine forty-five, and Tidus promised to have them sailing into the archipelago of the Deist Isles immediately after departure.

Unfortunately, Axel was right. The trip from Lesalia to Lionel and then to Knave's Bay alone will devour close to a month; three weeks in the least. It would be faster if they sailed nonstop day and night, but Tidus insisted that his skittish sailors need their rest, so a month of sailing on the sea it is.

Roxas had a feeling that Axel was probably a little bit jealous; Roxas is set out sailing once again on the sea while he's stuck inside the house. But all Roxas wanted to do was just stay in bed with Axel, enveloped in the scent of his cologne, or natural scent. One time while they were doing it, Roxas had managed to shift only his immortal senses, and he could smell Axel's divine scent all over him. It suffocated him, mingled with sweat, but it was _so_ good.

Now, Roxas is standing at the foot of that bed, packing his clothes into a large leather satchel. Handfuls of shirts and pants, but only one pair of boots and his far-too-stuffy back cloak, tunic, and ebony mask. Artemis is lying on his bed, her head resting on one of Roxas' pillows. Sora then appears in the doorway, carrying a basket of laundry. Artemis is the first to acknowledge him, though Sora has no doubt Roxas heard him coming from the hallway.

Sora set the basket on the desk before kneeling on the plush rug. He runs his hands over Artemis's head, letting her lick him a few times.

"Hopefully she won't forget me while I'm gone." Roxas says, still focused on his satchel.

"She could never forget you." Sora smiles as he makes his way over to the bed. "So, you excited?"

Roxas gives Sora a stare as if to ask, _Did you really just ask that_? "Please tell me you're joking."

Sora chuckles. "Sorry. I'm just trying to lighten the mood. You seem rather down."

"I'm leaving my lover after him waking form a coma for not even a day." Roxas sighs. "And I'm sailing out on the sea. That is cruel irony."

"He'll be fine." Sora assures.

"Says you." Axel's voice suddenly chimes from the doorway. He still has a piece of toast in his hand from breakfast as he walks towards the bed. "At least with the three assassin musketeers I could've been training, but now I'm just stuck doing laundry and house chores."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, sorry." Axel plops on the edge of the bed, Artemis sitting at his feet, alert waiting for Axel to feed her the crust. "I'm just saying."

"Reno can help you I'm sure." Roxas says. He looks around and sighs. "Sora, can yu get me my hairbrush from the bathroom?"

"I get you." Sora rolls his eyes. "Try not to swallow each other while I'm gone."

"Just go." Roxas say, throwing one of the plush pillows at the boy.

The moment Sora intentionally closes the door loudly, Axel gets up from the bed as Roxas finishes clasping shut the flap of the satchel, and wraps his arms around Roxas' torso. Roxas giggles as he feels Axel's forehead rest on his shoulder. "Can't you just stay?"

"Axel, being serious here," Roxas giggles as Axel's lips travel closer to his neck. "There are people who I need to save. Slaves."

"I know, I know." Axel mumbles into Roxas' skin. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you." Roxas moans.

"Alright, alright. Enough." Sora shouts, making Axel jolt. Roxas chuckles as the boy tosses Roxas his hairbrush.

Axel gives a playful snarl before sitting down in one of the armchairs around the fireplace. Sora leans against the bed and folds his arms.

"What are you so worried about anyway, Axel." Sora asks. "They'll be fine."

"I know Roxas will be okay. It's the month long journey I'm worried about."

"Why?" the assassin asks. "I don't get sea sickness, thank gods."

Then suddenly a voice chimes again from the doorway. "I think he's more worried about his little Elven Assassin getting taken away from him."

Looking over, the three find Vanitas, his ember-gold eyes shining in the light leaking in through the window. He's dressed in a fitted black, sleeveless shirt and pants with black leather boots up to his knees. His leather jacket matches the outfit, but there's a special design on the sleeves that look like red veins. The black against his pale skin and eyes, it's undeniably attractive.

"Not that he has to worry at all." Roxas says with a grin.

Vanitas snickers as he walks into the room. "Of course, I mean we're only going to be on a ship for about a month together, and then another week after that."

"Vanitas." Roxas snaps.

Vanitas leaps onto the beck, flopping on his back, Artemis immediately smothering his face with kisses. "I'm just kidding." Vanitas wipes his face, but Artemis keeps licking his chin. Then once she's finished, she circles around and lies by his head. "In fact, I'm excited, seeing that blue ocean again. I miss Destiny Isles."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Sora says. "How long have you been away from home? Didn't Roxas and Axel stop there, way back when?"

"It feels like it was way back when." Roxas mutters.

Vanitas gives a simple shrug of his shoulders. "Don't know. If I had to guess, maybe a year, coming up on a year and a half. My house must be filthy."

"How different is it?" Sora asks. "Have things changed?"

"Since when?"

"Uh . . . maybe when you were younger." Sora says. That's right, Sora is from the Destiny Isles as well. And he claimed he was living in an orphanage after his parents were killed. That also reminds Roxas how Sora has a little bit of magic that he hasn't as much touched since an accident back at the castle in Traverse Town. Perhaps Reno can help him with that while Roxas is gone.

Vanitas doesn't say anything, but gives another nonchalant shrug. "Well, if from that far back, then yeah, it's definitely changed. It's a much cleaner city than it was. We rely more on, natural power; finally using all of that water that surrounds our little kingdom."

"Still the same people?"

"Still the same, though some actually moved into the town. And I guess –"

"Hate to change the subject, but why are we all in my room?" Roxas suddenly asks as she adjusts his satchel.

"Well for the thing, smartass, Luxord stunk up the kitchen. Burned one of his "special meals" from his homeland." Vanitas snaps with a grin.

"That's what I smelt?!" Roxas laughs. "I thought it was the neighbors doing a bonfire."

"From who?" Axel chuckles. "This place is on private property, up on a hill."

"Oh, shut up." Roxas laughs, chucking one of Artemis's toys at him.

Finally the one thing that breaks up the group is the chiming of the clock, reading ten o'clock in the morning. They disperse from Roxas' room and everyone gathers at the front door to give the three assassins their regards. Roxas gives partial hugs and pats on backs to the men, a full hug for Sora and even Reno. Vanitas does the same, and waits outside by the fountain in the driveway. Roxas follows him and the two wait, Axel having to fetch something from his rooms real quickly. Roxas looks behind him and finds Sora and Riku speaking privately.

A fiendish smile creeps on his lips as he watches the silver-haired assassin lean down and kiss Sora's lips. Sora is smiling like a child, color flushing his cheeks, and Riku gives him a dashing smile before another kiss on the boy's forehead. Vanitas doesn't seem to notice, or care if he does. He simply sits on the basin of the fountain and tilts his head back, the sun warming his pale skin.

Roxas sigh through his nose as his eyes naturally start to trace along Vanitas' strong and chiseled jawline. Making their way down to that strong column of his neck, his low-cut tunic exposing his collarbone. It puzzles and aches Roxas to think that someone so handsome has not found a wife yet, or perhaps a significant other for that matter. Vanitas wouldn't have a problem with it, but he refuses to. Roxas hates to think it's because of him, but . . . what else is there. What more convincing can he do?

Finally Riku comes walking out, Axel behind him with Reno. Some of the men stay outside on the porch furniture to watch, Xigbar helping himself to a cigar and Zack simply settling into the cushioned whicker bench as a soft breeze cools the air.

While Vanitas and Riku shrugs their packs onto their backs, Roxas walks over to Axel and smiles. "Please, be careful." He says.

"I will, I promise. It's a simple job; we go in, free the slaves and leave." Roxas explains.

"And you have permission to kill anyone that stands in your way."

"No, Axel." Roxas sighs. "Only if they threaten my life."

"Which for you is always, so it won't make a difference."

Roxas chuckles as he embraces Axel. Gods, this is so unfair. He is just getting reacquainted to remembering that feeling of being safe in Axel's arms, resting his head against his chest and hearing his heartbeat. And now he has to go without it for _one more month_. Gods be damned. "I'll try and get back as soon as we can, okay?"

"Alright." Axel sighs. He kisses Roxas once more and nuzzles his face into Roxas' shoulder. "I love you," he mumbles.

Roxas shivers, but he smiles. "I love you too."

"Roxas." Reno calls. The two pull away slightly and look. Vanitas and Riku are ready, Vanitas with that black jacket and Riku with a short dark purple cloak that stops just below his waist. "Let's go."

Sighing, Roxas gives Axel one more kiss goodbye before he walks over to the three. Reno expression seems to falter between a smile or a small frown. "Stay safe."

Even with what Reno had said – powerful and dangerous ones at that – if it weren't for him, Roxas would still fear his Elven heritage. _Hate_ seems like a strong word, but _dislike_ seems to fit pretty damn well. "I will." Roxas says. He offers merely a flick of the corner of his mouth. He then pulls the hood of his long cloak over his head, the fabric of the cape whispering against the ground.

The three start their walks down the driveway and Vanitas turns around and gives another wave, Roxas follows his gaze and finds Sora waving back, smiles on his face as well as a few crewmen.

The three make their way through the gate of the mansion and once they reach the marketplace, Roxas can't help but smile as he walks in between Riku and Vanitas. It's almost like old times. The three of them prowling the streets, gathering attention of young ladies and of children who gaze in awe. But for once they're not here to pick pockets or break into mansions or estates.

Back when they were little, they didn't get assigned much on missions together, but Roxas does remember when Riku and Vanitas would visit his father's mansion. They didn't, get along like other children, but there was some form of bond that clearly roots deeper than Roxas had imagined.

When they make it to the docks, they immediately spot Tidus and his crewmen working on the boat: readying the sails, untying the rope upon spotting the three assassins approaching the boat. Tidus smiles, offers a friendly wave before ushering the men aboard.

Roxas stops at the start of the gangplank and sighs. He turns to his two companions behind him. "Are you guys ready for this?"

"Been ready." Vanitas answers with a nod and smile.

Riku nods too and smiles beneath his hood. "I'm all set."

Roxas smiles widely. "Alright. Let's go."

Roxas turns and makes his way up the gangplank with his two friends behind him. The gulls start to shriek, the men weigh anchor. It feels, god to be back on a ship once again. Roxas didn't realize how much he had missed sailing on a boat, let alone think about how much of Axel had rubbed off on him. Sailing wasn't normally Roxas favorite form of transportation, but after being with Axel for as long as they have, it seems like second nature to Roxas.

The feeling is familiar. The men scouring the deck pulling ropes, moving barrels of mead and sweeping the deck. Just like the very first time Roxas had accidentally stumbled onto the captain's ship. Who would have thought that that was the day he had met his true love, his soul mate. The difference of how he was is . . . astonishing.

The three assassins all go over to the wooden railing of the starboard bow and settle into a wooden bench. They look out over to the docks, people still mingling and heaving sacks across the wood, some families waving goodbye to their loved ones.

"Well, off to the Rozarria then." Vanitas says. Roxas turns to the spikey dark-haired assassin, smiling with his eyes bright.

"To Rozarria then." Roxas says.

* * *

A month and three days later, it takes the three assassins five minutes to search their cramped room for any spyholes or signs of danger; five minutes for them to lift the frame paintings on the wood-paneled walls, tap at the floorboards, seal the gap between the door and the floor, and cover the windows with Roxas' weather-worn black cloak.

The night they came in was brutal, as the heat of the Isles immediately greeted them upon docking. The three assassins quickly paid and thanked Tidus for his time and set out to find a place to stay while investigating. Unfortunately, that place had to be discreet and out of sight to avoid anyone wanting to follow them, if they were stupid enough.

They came upon a cheap inn, much like the one in Bervenia and decided to sleep in shifts, one guarding while the other two slept. The ceilings were low, the wooden floors creaked, and the cramped room combined with the already-sizzling temperature meant Roxas is sweating bucket beneath his clothing. They would deal with the slaves in the morning.

Their plan was to go undercover as employees of the buyer, here to discuss further details and examine the salves. Which was true according to the papers Reno had given Riku. The seller was expecting them, but had no idea what they looked like. Thankfully, or coincidentally, the three assassins managed to spot the employees within five minutes of scouring the marketplace.

Fanning out around them, the three were nothing more than slivers of shadows when their daggers knocked out all three employees in separate locations. A part of Roxas wanted to order them killed, but their lives are not to be paid for the slaves.

Unfortunately with the heat and their cramped room in the inn, Roxas sweated so much that his sheets became damp, and slept so little that when dawn came, he felt like he had bene trampled by herd of wild horses from the Zelmonia grasslands.

Riku finally nudged him – a none-too-gentle prodding with the pommel of his sword. He says. "You look horrible."

Roxas swiped the sword away and gets out of bed and promptly slams the bathroom door.

When he emerges a while later as fresh as he could get using only the washbasin and his hands, Roxas understands o thing with brutal clarity.

There is no way – no wat in any realm of Hell – that he is going to let those slaves be brought to Ivalice. The seller – some captain by the name of Rude – can keep them for all Roxas cares, but he isn't going to let them be transported to the capital city.

The three assassins dress in their darkest clothes and cloaks. Roxas slinging his cape over his shoulders, silently bemoaning the fact that the yards of fabric concealed much of his lovely black tunic – especially its delicate gold embroidery. Well, at least his cape is also exquisite. Even if it is a bit dirty from so much traveling.

"Today we meet with Rude." Vanitas states. "He's agreed to meet us at a local tavern, and remember, we're representing someone of high reputation, meaning friends in high places kind of thing. So we need to keep our questions polite so he doesn't suspect anything." Vanitas says, and casts his glance over to Roxas.

Roxas feigns being insulted. "Hey, I can be polite when it pleases me."

"When it gets you what you want, you mean." Riku says. "I didn't think you knew what polite meant."

They swap particularly vulgar gestures.

"Come on you two, enough." Vanitas says with a chuckle. "Let's head out."

"I thought I was in charge here." Roxas says with a pout.

Vanitas opens the door to their room and simply stares at Roxas. With a sly grin, he bows low. "Well then, after you, _sir_."

Roxas rolls his eyes and walks through the threshold. As the three of them mingled as they exited the inn, even when heads turned their way, gleaming over their clothes, their weapons and swagger, the three paid no heed and kept to themselves as they made for the docks.

Dodging puddles of filth, vomit, and the gods knew what else, the three found it just a _tad_ difficult to match Rude's long stride. With rain clouds gathering overhead, many of the people in the street – raggedy pirates swaying where they stood, prostitutes stumbling past after a long night, barefoot orphans running amok – had begun migrating into the various ramshackle buildings.

Knave's Bay isn't a beautiful by any definition, and many of the leaning and sagging buildings seem to have been constructed from little more than wood and nails. Aside from its denizens, the city is most famous for Mencetto, the giant chain that hangs across the mouth of the horseshoe-shaped bay.

It has been around for centuries, and is so large that, as its name implies, it can snap the mast of any ship that comes up against it. While mostly designed to discourage any attacks, it also keeps any one from sneaking off. And given that the rest of the island is covered with towering mountains, there aren't manty other places for a ship to safely dock. So, any ship that wanted to enter or exit the harbor has to wait for it to be lowered under the surface – and be ready to pay a hefty fee.

"You boys have three blocks," Rude says. "Better make them count."

When meeting Rude in front of his favorite tavern, none of the assassins expected to see a lean but wiry, well dressed and but not overly man. Rude is tall with a stern expression and tanned skin. His head is shaved bald and with a little goatee. Broad shoulders, head held high, a casual grave to his movements that comes with knowing he had all the power in the world.

At least he seemed just as surprised to see three cloaked men approach him. He gave the three a questionable look, but it wasn't until his eyes took in the intricate and expensive detail of Roxas' uniform that Rude was convinced they were the employees of the noblemen here to buy the slaves.

Was he deliberately walking fast? _Slimy bastard_. Steadying his rising temper, Roxas focused on the jagged, lush mountains hovering around the city, on the glittering curve of the bay, on the hint of sweetness in the air.

"When the slaves arrive," Roxas says, trying to sound as inconvenienced as possible. "will we get the chance to inspect them, or can I trust that you're giving us a good batch?"

Rude shakes his head at Roxas' impertinence, and Roxas jumps over the outstretched legs of an unconscious – or dead – drunk in his path. "They'll arrive tomorrow afternoon. I was _planning_ to inspect them myself, but if you're so worried about the quality of your wares, I'll allow you to join me. Consider it a privilege."

Riku snorts. "Where? On our ship?"

Better to get a good sense of how everything worked, and then build their plan from there. Knowing how things operated might create some idea for how to make the deal fall apart with as little risk as possible.

"I've converted a large stable at the other end of the town into a holding facility. I usually examine all the slaves there, but since you're leaving the next morning, we'll examine yours on the ship itself."

Vanitas clicks his tongue loudly enough for Rude to hear. "And how long can we expect this to take?"

Rude raises an eyebrow. "You have better things to do?"

"Just answer the question." Roxas commands. Thunder rumbles in the distance.

They reach the docks, which are by far the most impressive thing about the town. Ships of all shapes and sizes rock against the wooden piers, and pirates scurry along the decks, tying down various things before the storm hits. On the horizon, lightning flashes above the lone watchtower perched along the northern entrance to the bay – the watchtower from which Mencetto is raised and lowered. In the flash, Roxas had also seen the two catapults atop one of the tower landings. If Mencetto doesn't destroy a boat, then those catapults finish the job.

"Don't worry, Mister Aldaren," Rude says, striding past the various taverns and inns that line the docks. They had two blocks left. "Your time won't be wasted. Though getting through a hundred slaves will take a while."

A hundred slaves on one ship! Where did they all _fit_?

Ralof Aldaren is the name that Roxas had used as a façade for the trade deal. It is one of the few back stories that his father had him memorize to each and every letter for whenever he needed to. Ralof Aldaren was a nobleman who has been known to "get around"; he lives in an expensive townhouse in Hollow Bastion and graduated from the School of Destiny with a two year degree in business. He is single and known as a womanizer and his best friends are Rudy Gunther and Claris Hobson.

"As long as you don't fool me," Roxas snaps. "I'll consider it time well spent."

"So you don't find reasons to complain – and I'm sure you'll try your best to do just that – I have another shipment of slaves being inspected at the holding facility tonight. Why don't you join me? That way, you can have something to compare them to tomorrow."

That would be perfect, actually. Perhaps he can merely claim the slaves weren't up to par and refuse to do business with him. And then leave, no harm done to either of them.

Roxas waves a hand. "Fine, fine. Send someone for me when it's time." The humidity is so thick Roxas feels as if he is swimming through it.

"And after the slaves are inspected?" Vanitas add, Rude looking to Roxas and Roxas smiles beneath his mask. Any bit of information can later be used as a weapon against him. "Are they ours to look after on the ship, or will your men be watching them for us? Your pirates might very well think they're free to take whatever slaves they wish."

Rude clenches the hilt of his sword. It glints in the muted light, and Roxas admires the intricate pommel, shaped like a sea dragon's head. "If I give the order that no one is to touch your salves, then no one will touch them." Rude says through grit teeth. His annoyance is an unexpected delight. "However, I'll arrange to have a few guards on the ship, if that will make you sleep easier. I wouldn't want your master to think I don't take his investment seriously."

They approached a blue-printed tavern, where several men in dark tunics lounge out front. At the sight of Rude, they straighten, saluting him. His guards? Why hadn't anyone escorted him through the streets?

"That will be fine." Roxas says crisply. "I don't want to be here any longer than necessary."

"I'm sure you're eager to return to your clients in Ivalice." Rude stops in front of the faded door. The sign above it, swinging in the growing storm winds, says THE SEA DRAGON. It is also the name of his famed ship, which is docked just behind them, and really doesn't look all that spectacular, anyway. Perhaps _this_ is the Pirate Lord's headquarters.

"I think we're more eager to return to civilized society." Roxas says sweetly.

Rude lets out a low growl and steps onto the threshold of the tavern. Inside, it is all shadows and murmuring voices – and reeks of stale ale. Other than that, the three assassins can see nothing.

"One day," Rude says, too quietly to Roxas. "someone's really going to make you pay for that arrogance." Lightning makes his green eyes flicker. "I just hope I'm there to see it."

He shuts the tavern door in Roxas face.

Roxas smiles, and his smiles grows wider as he faces his two companions, lowering their masks revealing fiendish grins of their own. Fat drops of rain splatter on the rust-colored earth, instantly cooling the muggy air.

Riku says, " _That_ had gone surprisingly well."


	19. Chapter 18

Dinner with Riku and Vanitas is pleasant. The three of them mingle and chat, and this is arguably the first time they've spent time together since they were in their younger years. They clink their glasses and exchange conversation on topics that leap from one to another. At eight in the evening, Rude appeared to bring them to the holding facility.

The holding facility is an enormous wooden warehouse, and even from down the block, something about the place made Roxas' instincts scream at him to get away. The sharp reek of unwashed bodies doesn't hit him until they step inside. Blinking against the brightness of the torches and crude chandeliers, it takes the assassins a few heartbeats to sort out what they are seeing.

Rude, striding ahead of them, doesn't falter as he passes cell after cell packed with slaves. Instead, he walks towards a large open space in the rear of the warehouse, where a nut-brown Galtea man stands before a cluster of four pirates.

Beside him, Vanitas lets out a breath, his face wan. If the smell isn't bad enough, the people in the cells, clinging to the bars or cowering against the walls or clutching their children – _children_ – ripped at every shred of Roxas' being.

Aside from the occasional muffled weeping, the slaves are silent. Some of their eyes widen at the sight of Roxas. He had forgotten how he must appear – faceless, cloak waving behind him, striding past them like Death itself. Some of the slaves even sketch invisible marks in the air, warding off whatever evil they think he is . . .

Roxas takes in the locks on the pens, counting the number of people crammed into each cell. They hail from all the kingdoms on the continent. There are even some orange-haired, grey-eyed mountain clansmen – wild-looking men who track his movements. And women – some of them barely older than Roxas himself. Had they been fighters, too, or just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Roxas heart pounds faster. Even after all these years, people still defied Kerwon's conquest. But what right did Kerwon – or rude, or anyone – have to treat them like this? Conquest isn't enough; no, Kerwon has to _break_ them.

Galtea, he'd heard, had taken the brunt of it. Though their king had yielded his power to the king of Kerwon, Galtea soldiers still can be found fighting in the rebel groups that plagued Kerwon's forces. But the land itself is too vital for Kerwon to abandon. Galtea boasted two of the most prosperous cities on the continent; its territory – rich in farmland, waterways, and forests – is a crucial vein in trade routes. Now, it seems, Kerwon had decided that it might make money off its people, too.

The men standing around the Galtea prisoner part as Rude approaches, bowing their heads. Roxas recognized two of the men from following Rude to the tavern: the short, bald Captain Fairview and the one-eyed, hulking Captain Blacktooth. Roxas, Vanitas and Riku stop beside Rude.

The Galtea man has been stripped naked, his wiry body already bruised and bleeding.

"This one fought back a bit," says Captain Fairview. Though sweat gleams on the slave's skin, he keeps his chin high, his eyes upon some distant sight. He must have been around twenty. Did he have a family?

"Keep him in irons, though, and he'll fetch a good price." Fairview goes on, wiping his face on the shoulder of his crimson tunic. The gold embroidery is fraying, and the fabric, which has probably been rich with color, is faded and stained. "I'd send him to the market in Limberry. Lots of rich men there needing strong hands to do their building. Or women needing strong hands for something else entirely." He winks at Roxas.

 _Excuse him_? Unyielding rage boils up so fast the breath is knocked from him. Roxas doesn't realize his hand is moving towards his sword until Vanitas knits his fingers through Roxas' it is a casual-enough gesture, and to anyone else, it might have looked affectionate. But he squeezes Roxas fingers tightly enough for the blonde to know that he is well aware of what Roxas is about to do.

"How many of these slaves will actually be deemed useful?" Riku asks, passing the two, and Vanitas releasing Roxas' gloved fingers. "Ours are all going to Kerwon, but you're dividing this batch up?"

Rude says, "You think your master is the first to strike a deal with me? We have other agreements in different cities. My partners in Limberry tell me what the wealthy are looking for, and I supply them. If I can't think of a good place to sell the slaves, I'll send them to Mythril. If your master has leftovers, sending them to Gollund might be a good option. Kerwon is stingy with what they'll offer when buying slaves for the salt mines, but it's better than making no money at all."

So Kerwon isn't just snatching prisoners from battlefields and their homes – they are _buying_ slaves for the Mineral Mines of Gollund, too.

"And the children?" Roxas asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. "Where do they go?"

Rude's eyes darken a bit at that, glimmering with enough guilt that Roxas wonders if the salve trade had been a last resort for him. "We try to keep the children with their mothers." He says quietly. "But at the auction block, we can't control whether they're separated."

Roxas fights the retort on his tongue, and just says, "I see. Are they a burden to sell? And how many children can we expect in out shipment?"

"We have about ten here." Rude says "Your shipment shouldn't contain more than hat. And they're not a burden to see, if you know where to sell them."

"Where?" Riku demands.

"Some wealthy households might want them for scullery maids or stableboys." Though his voice remains steady, Rude studies the ground. "A brothel madam might show up at the auction, too."

Riku's face goes white with fury. If there is one thing that sets him off, one subject that Roxas _knew_ can always rely upon to rile him, it is this.

Riku's mother, sold at eight to a brothel, had spent her too-short twenty-eight years clawing her way up from an orphan to one of the most successful courtesans in Atlantica. She'd had Riku only size years before she'd died – murdered by a jealous client. And though he'd amassed some money, it hadn't been enough to liberate her from her brothel – or to provide for Riku. But she didn't know that Xemnas was a part of Roxas' father's Assassin Guild, and so when Xemnas learned of their genetic connection, and what he'd learned that she wanted Riku to be trained by him, Xemnas had taken the boy in.

"We'll take that into consideration." Riku says sharply.

It isn't enough for Roxas to ensure the deal fell apart. No, that isn't _nearly_ enough. Not when all of these people are imprisoned here. His blood pounds in his veins. Death, at least, is quick. Especially when dealt by his hand. But slavery is unending suffering.

"Very well." Roxas says, lifting his chin. He has to get out of here – and get Riku and Vanitas out of here before they all snap. A deadly gleam is glowing in their eyes. "I look forward to seeing our shipment tomorrow night." Roxas inclines his head towards the pens behind him. "When will these slaves be sent out" it is such a dangerous, stupid question.

Rude looks to Captain Fairview, who rubs his dirty head. "This lot? We'll divvy them up, and they'll be loaded onto a new ship tomorrow, probably. They'll sail around the same time you do, I bet. We need to assemble crews." He and Rude started off on a conversation about manning the ships, and Roxas takes that as his cue to leave.

With a final look at the slave still standing there, Roxas strode out of the warehouse that stinks of fear and death.

"Roxas, _wait_!" Vanitas calls, panting as he walks after him.

He can't wait. He'd just started walking, and walking, and walking, and now, as he reaches the empty beach far from the lights of Knave's Bay, he won't stop walking until he reaches the water.

Not too far down the curve in the bay, the watchtower stands guard, Mencetto hanging across the water for the duration of the night. The moon illuminates the powder-fine sand and turns the clam sea into a silver mirror.

Roxas removes his mask and drops it behind him, then rips off his cloak, boots, and tunic. The damp breeze kisses his bare skin, fluttering his delicate golden hair.

" _Roxas_!"

Bath-warm waves flood past him, and he kicks up a spray of water as he keeps walking. Before he can get deeper than his calves, Riku grabs him.

"What are you doing?" he demands. Roxas yanks his arm, but Vanitas holds firm.

In a single, swift movement, Roxas twirls, swinging his other arm. But Vanitas knew the move – because he'd practiced it right alongside Roxas for years – and he catches Roxas' other hand. " _Stop_ ," he says, but Roxas sweeps his foot. He catches Riku behind the knee, sending him tumbling down. Riku doesn't release Roxas, and water and sand spray as they hit the ground. Vanitas walks up and watches the two.

Roxas lands on top of Riku, but Riku doesn't pause for a moment. Before Roxas can give him a sharp elbow to the face, Riku flips him. The air whooshes out of Roxas' lungs. Riku lunges for him, and Roxas has the sense to bring his feet up just as he leaps. Roxas kicks him square in the stomach Riku curses as he drops to his knees. The surf breaks around him, a shower of silver.

Roxas springs into a crouch, the sand kissing beneath his feet as he makes to tackle Riku.

But the silver-haired assassin has been waiting, and he twists away, catching Roxas by the shoulder and throwing him to the ground.

Roxas knew he'd been caught before Riku even finished slamming him into the sand. He pins Roxas' writs, his knees digging into her thighs to keep Roxas from getting his legs under him again.

" _Enough_!" Riku's fingers dig into Roxas' wrists. A rogue wave reaches them, soaking Roxas.

Roxas thrashes, his fingers curling, straining to draw blood, but they can't reach Riku's hands. The sand shifts enough that Roxas can scarcely get a steady surface to support himself, to flip Riku. But Riku knew him – he knew Roxas' movements, knew what tricks he liked to pull.

" _Stop_ ," he says, his breathing ragged. "Please."

In the moonlight, his handsome face is strained. Please." He repeats hoarsely.

The sorrow – the defeat – in his voice makes Roxas pause. A wisp of cloud passes over the moon, illuminating the strong panes of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips – the kind of rare beauty that had made his mother so successful. Far above his head, stars flicker faintly, nearly invisible in the glow of the moon.

"I'm not going to let go until you promise to stop attacking me." Riku says. His face is inches away, and Roxas feels the breath of every one of his words on his mouth.

Roxas takes an uneven breath, then another. He has no reason to attack Riku or Vanitas. Not when Vanitas had kept Roxas from gutting that pirate in the warehouse. Not when Riku had gotten so riled about the slave children. Roxas' legs tremble with pain.

"I promise." He mumbles.

"Swear it."

"I swear on my life."

Riku watches Roxas for a second longer, then slowly eases off him. Roxas waits until he is standing, then gets to his feet. Vanitas, deeming the situation safe to approach, walks his way over to the two assassins, his clothes clean and dry. Both Riku and Roxas are soaked and crusted with sand, and Roxas is fairly certain his hair is probably all tousled around his head like a porcupine and he looks like a raging lunatic.

"So," Riku says taking off his boots and tossing them onto the sand behind them. "Are you going to explain yourself?" he rolls his pants up to his knees and takes a few steps into the surf.

Roxas begins pacing, waves splattering at his feet. "I just . . . ," he begins, but a waves an arm, shaking his head fiercely.

"You what?" Riku's words are almost drowned out by the crashing waves.

Roxas whirls to face him. "How can they bear to look at those people and not do anything?"

"The slaves?"

Roxas resumes his pacing. "It makes me sick. It makes me . . . makes me so mad that I . . ." He can't finish the sentence.

"That you attack without thinking?" Vanitas finishes. Splashing steps sound, and Roxas looks over to him to find Vanitas approaching, his ember-gold eyes bright in the moonlight. "You would think after all these years that you would have control of that raging anger of yours." He crosses his arms, preparing for a fight.

"I guess even I have my flaws." Roxas grins. He returns his gaze out to the ocean, Riku having since collecting Roxas' clothes. "I know we only intended to ruin the deal, but from the moment I had walked into that warehouse tonight, I knew I couldn't leave the slaves there."

"You want to free them?" Vanitas asks, his arms still crossed, thankfully though his tone was as surprised or upset as Roxas assumed.

Roxas looks over to his two assassin companions, they have grown still, but their faces are calm and cool. "We have to try." He says.

"This could be dangerous." Riku says, Roxas' clothes slung over his shoulder.

"It won't be our problem. We're just here to represent some strutting noblemen. And once he finds out who we really are, when we're long gone, I don't think his pride will recover."

There's silence and a glance exchanged between Riku and Vanitas. Then Riku says, "Okay, we're not disagreeing with you, but _I'm_ curious as to know why. We're assassins. We _kill_ people. We destroy lives every day."

"We have a choice." Roxas breathes. "Maybe not when we were children – when it was my father or death – but now . . . Now we all have a _choice_ in the things we do. Those slaves were just _taken_. They were fighting for their freedom, or lived too close to a battlefield, or some mercenaries passed through their town and _stole_ them. They're innocent people."

"And we weren't?" Vanitas counters.

Something icy pierces Roxas' hear at the glimmer of memory. "We kill corrupt officials and adulterous spouses, we make it quick and clean. These are entire families being ripped apart. Every one of these people used to be somebody."

Riku's eyes glow. "I don't like the idea of this. Not yours, and not just the slaves, but the involvement of these nobles; so undeserving of their title. And those children . . ." he pinches the bridge of his nose. "But we're just three people – surrounded by Rude's pirates."

Roxas gives them a crooked grin. "Then it's good that we're the best. And," Roxas adds, "it's good that I've been asking him so many questions about his plans for the next two days."

Vanitas blinks. "You realize this is the most reckless thing you've ever done, right?"

"Reckless, but maybe the most meaningful too."

Vanitas stares at Roxas long enough for heat to flood to the blonde's cheeks, as if he can see right inside of Roxas – see everything. The fact that he doesn't turn away from whatever he sees makes Roxas' blood thrum in his veins. "I suppose if we're going to die, it should be for a noble cause."

Roxas snorts, using it as an excuse to step away from him. "We're not going to die. At least if we follow my plan."

Riku groans. "You already have a plan?"

Roxas grins, then tells the two assassins everything. When he finishes, Vanitas scratches his head. "Well," he admits, sitting on the and. "I suppose that'd work. We'd have to time it right, but . . ."

"But I could work." Roxas sits beside him.

Vanitas shrugs. "I guess." Though he keeps his eyes on the waves, Roxas could have sworn a blush darkened Vanitas' cheeks.

Vanitas traces circles in the sand as Riku approaches. "We have another shipment to inspect tomorrow at four, and there's also the fact that we have to make sure that at one of the slaves speaks our native tongue."

"That's right," Roxas says, setting his palm against his face. "I wonder if that Galtea man spoke English."

"It's a possibility." Vanitas says, rising to his feet.

Roxas follows him, dusting off his pants. Then a surprisingly cold breeze sweeps past him.

Slowly, Roxas turns north, toward the source of the breeze, which smells of a land faraway land he hadn't seen in eleven years. Pine and snow – a city still in winter's grasp. He breathes it in, staring across the leagues of lonely, black ocean, seeing, somehow, that distant city that had once, long, ago, felt like home to him. The wind rips the strands of his hair, lashing them across his face. Valnain. A city of light and music, watched over by an alabaster castle with an opal tower so bright it can be viewed for miles.

The moonlight vanishes behind a thick cloud. In the sudden dark, the stars glow brighter.

Roxas knew all the constellations by heart, and he instantly sought out the Stag, Lord of the North, the Lord of Valendia, and the immovable star that crowns his head.

"We should head back to the inn." Riku says.

As Roxas follows the silver-haired assassin, they turn back when they realize they're lacking in another set of footsteps.

They turn back and find Vanitas still staring out at the ocean. His hair tickling his cheeks. "Are you coming?" Roxas asks.

"No. I'm staying here for a little longer." Vanitas answers.

Riku gives him an appraising look, but nods. "We're to examine the slaves on their ship at four tomorrow afternoon."

"I know."

Roxas clenches his fist slightly, but bites his lip as he says. "Try not to stay out here the whole night. We need all the rest we can get."

Vanitas doesn't reply, and turns away before he can watch Roxas and Riku head towards the golden lights of Knave's Bay.

Vanitas walks along the curve of the shoreline, all the way to the lone watchtower. After studying it from the shadows – the two catapults near its top, the giant chain anchored above them – he continues on. He walks until there is nothing in the world but the grumble and hiss of the waves, the sigh of the sand beneath his feet, and the glare of the moon on the water.

He walks until he stops when he feels like he is in the middle of the shimmering sand at his feet. The water reaches towards his ankles, covering his feet for a few seconds before retreating back into the ocean.

 _We have a choice_. . _Maybe not when we were children – when it was my father or death – but now . . . Now we all have a choice in the things we do_.

Back then, he hadn't had a choice. When Roxas' father offered him this path, it was either that, or death. But now . . .

Vanitas takes a shuddering breath. No, he is as limited in his choices as he'd been when he was eight years old. He was an assassin, a creature of the shadows and manipulation – and he would always be.

It was a long walk back to the tavern.

After yet another miserably hot and sleepless night, the three assassins spent the following day walking the streets of Knave's Bay. They kept their pace leisurely, pausing at various vendors' carts and popping into the occasional shop, but all the while tracing each step of their plan, going over every detail that they'd need to orchestrate perfectly.

From the fishermen along the docks, they learned that the rowboats tied to the piers belongs to nobody in particular, and that tomorrow's morning tide comes in just after sunrise. Not advantageous, but better than midday.

From flirting with the harlots along the main streets, Vanitas learned that every once in a while, Rude covers the tab for all the pirates in his service, and the revelry lasted for days. He also picked up a few other pointers that he refused to tell Roxas about.

And from the half-drunk pirate languishing in an alley, Roxas learned how many men guarded the slave ships, what manner of weapons they carried, and where the slaves are kept.

When four o'clock rolls around, the three assassins are standing aboard the ship Rude had promised them, watching and counting as the slaves stumbled onto the wide deck. Ninety-three. Mostly men, most of them young. The women are a boarder rage of ages, and there were only a handful of children, just as Rude had said.

"Do they meet your refined tastes?" Rude asks as he approaches.

"I thought you said there'd be more." Roxas replies coldly, keeping his eyes upon the chained slaves.

"We had an even hundred, but seven died on the journey."

Roxas bites back the anger that flares. Vanitas, knowing him far too well for Roxas' liking, cuts in. "How many can we expect on the journey to Kerwon?" His face id relatively neutral, though his ember eyes flash with annoyance. Fine – he is a good liar. As good as Roxas is, maybe.

Rude runs a hand along his bald head. Don't you three ever stop _questioning_? There's no way of predicting how many slaves you'll lose. Just keep them watered and fed."

A low growl slips through Roxas' teeth, but Rude is already walking to his group of guards. Roxas, Riku and Vanitas follow him, observing as the last of the slaves are shoved onto the deck.

"Where are the slaves from yesterday?" Riku asks.

Rude waves a hand. "Most are on that ship, and will leave tomorrow." He points to a nearby ship and orders one of the slave drivers to start the inspection.

They wait until for a few slaves have been looked over, offering remarks on how fit a slave is, where he'd fetch a good price in Kerwon. Each word tastes fouler than the last.

"Tonight," Roxas says to the Pirate Lord, "you can guarantee that this ship's protected?" Rude sighs loudly and nods. "That watchtower across the bay," Roxas presses. "I assume that they'll also be responsible for monitoring this ship, too?"

"Yes," Rude snaps. Roxas opens his mouth, but Rude interrupts. "And before you ask, let me say that we change the watch just before dawn." So they'd have to target the morning watch instead, to avoid any alarm being raised at dawn – at high tide. Which is a slight hitch in his plans, but they can easily fix it.

"How many of the salves speak out language?" Riku asks.

Rude raises a brow. "Why?"

"It might add to their value." Vanitas immediately interjects.

Rude studies Vanitas a bit too closely, then whirls to face a slave woman standing nearby. "Do you speak the common tongue?"

She looks this way and that, clutching her scraps of clothing to her – a mix of fur and wool undoubtedly worn to keep her warm in the frigid mountain passes of Germinas Peak.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Rude demands. The woman lifts her shackled hands. Raw, red skin lies around the iron.

"I think the answer is no," Riku offers.

Rude glares at him, then walks through the stables. "Can any of you speak the common tongue?" he repeats himself, and is about to turn back when an older Galtea man – reed thin and covered with cuts and bruises – steps forward.

"I can." He says.

"That's it?" Rude barks at the salves. "No one else?" Roxas approaches the man who has spoken, committing his face to memory. He recoils at Roxas' mask and his cloak.

"Well, at least he might fetch a higher price." Roxas says over his shoulder to Rude. Vanitas summons Rude with a question about the mountain-woman in front of him, providing enough distraction. "What's your name?" Roxas asks to the slave.

"Dale." His long, frail fingers tremble slightly.

"You're fluent?"

He nods. "My – my mother was from Gallione. My father was a merchant from Zelmonia. I grew up with both languages."

And he's probably never worked a day in his life. How had _he_ gotten caught up in this mess? The other slaves on the deck hang back, huddling together, even some of the larger men and women whose scars and bruises mark them as fighters – prisoners of war. Had they already seen enough of slavery to break them? For both Roxas' sake and theirs, he hopes not.

"Good." He says, and strides away.

Hours later, no one noticed – or it they did, they certainly didn't care – when three cloaked figures slipped into two rowboats and headed towards the salve ships hovering several hundred yards offshore. A few lanterns illuminate the behemoth vessels, but the moon is bright enough for Roxas to easily make out the _Hero's Crest_ as he rows towards it.

To his right, Riku rows as quietly as he can, Vanitas at the head of the boat with a bow ready. He rows the boat to the _Gullwing_ , where the slaves from yesterday are being held. Silence is their only hope and ally, though the town behind them is already in the midst of revelry.

It hadn't taken long for word to get out about Ralof Aldaren and his companions had opened a celebratory tab at the tavern, and even as they had strode to the docks, pirates were already steaming the other way towards the inn.

Panting through his mask, Roxas' arms ache with each stroke. It isn't the town he is worried about, but the solitary watchtower to his left. A fire burns in its jagged turret, faintly illuminating the catapults and the ancient chain across the narrow bay mouth. If they are to be caught, the first alarm will be sounded from there.

It might have been easier to escape now – take down the watchtower, overpower the salve ships, and set sail – but the chain is only the first line of defenses. Knave's Bay are nearly impossible to navigate at night, and at low tide . . . They'd get a few miles and run aground on a reef or a sandbank.

Roxas drifts the last few feet to the _Hero's Crest_ and grasps the rung of a wooden ladder to keep the boat from thudding too hard against the hull.

They are better off at first light tomorrow, when the pirates will be too dunk or unconscious to notice, and when they had high tide on their side.

Vanitas flashes a compact mirror, indicating he and Riku had made it to the _Gullwing_. Catching the light in his own mirror, Roxas signals back, then flashes twice, indicating that he is ready.

A moment later, the signal returns. Roxas takes a long, steadying breath.

It is time.

Nimble as a cat and smooth as a snake, Roxas climbs the wooden ladder built into the side of the ship.

The first guard doesn't notice Roxas is upon him until the assassin's hands are around his neck, striking the two points that send him into unconsciousness. He slumps to the dock, and Roxas catches him by his filthy tunic, softening his fall. Quiet as mice, quiet as the wind, quiet as the grave.

The second guard, stationed at the helm, sees Roxas coming up the staircase. He manages a muffled cry before the pommel of Roxas' dagger slams into his forehead. Not as neat, and not as quiet: he this the deck with a thud that makes the third guard, stationed at the prow whirl to see.

But it is shadowy, and there are yards of ship between them. Roxas crouches low to the deck, covering the fallen guard's body with his cloak.

"Jon?" the third guard calls across the deck. Roxas winces at the sound. Not too far away, the _Gullwing_ is silent.

Roxas grimaces at the reek from Jon's unwashed body.

"Jon?" the guard says, and thumping steps follow. Closer and closer. He'd see the first guard soon.

Three . . . two . . . one . . .

"What the _hell_?" the guard trips over the first guard's prostrate body.

Roxas moves.

He swings over the railing fast enough that the guard doesn't' look up until he lands behind him. All it takes is a swift blow to the head and Roxas is easing the body down atop the first guard's. His heart hammering through every inch of him, Roxas sprints to the prow of the ship. He flashes the mirror three times. Three guards down.

Nothing.

"Come on, guys." Roxas signals again.

Far too many heartbeats later, a signal greets him. The air rushes from his lungs in a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. The guards on the _Gullwing_ are unconscious, too.

Roxas signals once. The watchtower is still quiet. If the guards are up there, they hadn't seen anything. He has to be quick, has to get this done before their disappearance is noticed.

The guard outside the captain's quarters manages to kick the wall hard enough to wake the dead before Roxas knocks him out, but it doesn't stop Captain Fairview from squealing hen Roxas slips into his office and shuts the door.

When Fairview is secured in the brig, gagged and bound and fully aware that his cooperation and the cooperation of his guards meant his life, Roxas creeps down to the cargo area.

The passages are cramped, but the two guards at the door still doesn't notice the assassin until he takes the liberty of rendering them unconscious.

Silently as he can, Roxas grabs a lantern hanging from a peg on the wall and opens the door. The reek almost brings him to his knees.

The ceiling is so low Roxas almost grazes it with his head. The slaves have all been chained, sitting on the floor. No latrines, no source of light, no food and water.

The slaves murmur, squinting against the sudden brightness of the torchlight leaking in from the hallway.

Roxas takes the ring of key he'd stolen from the captain's quarters and steps into the cargo chamber. "Where is Dale?" he asks. They say nothing, either because they don't understand, or out of solidarity.

Roxas sighs, stepping farther into the chamber, and some of the wild-eyed mountain men murmur to one another. While they might have recently declared themselves Kerwon's enemies, the people of The Orient have long been known for their unyielding love of violence. If he is to meet with any trouble in here, it will be from them. "Where is Dale?" Roxas asks more loudly.

A trembling voice comes from the back of the cargo area. "Here." Roxas' eyes strain to spy his narrow, fine features. "I'm here."

Roxas strode carefully through the crowded darkness. They are so close together that there is no room to move, and hardly any air to breathe. No wonder seven had died on the voyage here.

He takes out Captain Fairview's key and frees the shackles at Dale's feet, then his manacles, before offering him a hand up. "You're going to translate for me." The mountain folk and whoever else doesn't speak either the common tongue or Galtea can figure out enough on their own.

Dale rubs his writs, which are bleeding and scabbed in places. "Who are you?"

Roxas unlocks the chains of the too-thin woman beside Dale, then holds out the keys in her direction. "A friend." He says. "Tell her to unlock everyone, but tell them _not_ to leave this room."

Dale nods, and speaks in Galtean. The woman, mouth slightly open, looks at Roxas, then takes the keys. Without a word, she sets about freeing her companions. Dale then addresses the entire cargo bay, his voice soft but fierce.

"The guards are unconscious." Roxas says. Dale translates. "The captain has been locked in the brig, and tomorrow, should you choose to act, he will guide you through Knave's Bay and to safety. He knows that the penalty for bad information is death."

Dale translates, his eyes growing wider and wider. Somewhere near the back, one of the mountain men begin translating. And then two others translated, too – one in the language of the Deist Isles, and another in a language Roxas doesn't recognize. Had it been clever or cowardly of them not to speak up last night when he had asked who spoke the common tongue?

"When I am done explaining out plan of action," Roxas says, his hands shaking a bit as he suddenly recalls what, exactly, lies before the, "you may leave this room, but do not set foot on the decks. There are guards in the watchtower, and guards monitoring this ship from land. If they see you on the deck, they will warn everyone."

Roxas lets Dale and the others finish before going on.

"My colleagues are already aboard the _Gullwing_ , another slave ship set sail tomorrow." Roxas swallows hard. "When I am done here, they and I will return to the town and crate a distraction large enough that when the dawn breaks, you will have enough time to sail out of the harbor. You need the full day to sail out of Knave's Bay before dark – or else you'll be caught in their labyrinth."

Dale translates, but a woman speaks from nearby. Dale frowns as he turns to Roxas. "She has two questions. What of the chain at the entrance to the bay? And how will we sail the ship?"

Roxas nods. "Leave the chain to us. We'll have it down before you reach it."

When Dale and the other translate, murmurs break out. Shackles are thudding to the ground as slave after slave is unlocked.

"As for sailing the ship," Roxas goes on above the noise. "are any of you sailors? Fishermen?"

Some hands go up. "Captain Fairview will give you specific instructions. You'll have to row out of the bay, though. Everyone who has the strength will be needed on the oars, or you won't have a shot of outrunning Rude's ships."

"Who of his fleet?" another man asks.

"Leave it to me." Vanitas and Riku are probably already rowing over to the _Hero's Crest_. They have to get back to shore _now_. "No matter if the chain is still up, no matter what might be happening in town, the moment the sun slips over the horizon, you start rowing like hell."

A few voices object to Dale's translation, and the slave gives a sharp, short reply before turning to Roxas. "We will sort out specifics on our own."

Roxas lifts his chin. "Discuss it among yourselves. Your fate is yours to decide. But no matter what plan you choose, I _will_ have the chain down, and will buy you as much time as I can at dawn."

Roxas bows his head in farewell as he leaves the cargo hold, beckoning Dale along with him. Discussion starts behind them – muffled, a least.

In the hallway, he can see how thin Dale is, how filthy. Roxas points down the hall. "That is where the brig is; there you'll find Captain Fairview. Get him out before dawn, and don't be afraid to bloody him up a bit if he refuses to talk. There are three unconscious guards tied up on the deck, a guard outside Fairview's quarters, and two here. Do whatever you want with them; the choice is yours."

"I'll have someone take them to the brig." Dale says quickly. He rubs at the stubble on his face. "How much time will we have to get away? How long before the pirates notice?"

"I don't know. I'll try to disable their ships, which might slow them down." They reach the narrow stairs that lead to the upper decks. "There's one thing I need you to do." Roxas continues, and Dale looks up at the assassin, his eyes bright. "My colleagues don't speak Galtean. I need you to take a rowboat to the other ship and tell them all that I've told you, and unlocks their chains. We have to return to shore now, so you'll have to go alone."

Dale sucks in a breath, but nods. "I will."

After Dale tells the people in the cargo bat to take the unconscious guards to the brig, he creeps with Roxas onto the empty dock. He cringes at the sight of the unconscious guards, but doesn't object when Roxas sweeps Jon's cloak over the salve's shoulders and conceals his face in the folds of the cloak. Or when Roxas gives him Jon's sword and dagger.

Vanitas and Riku are already waiting at the side of the ship, hidden from the far-seeing eyes of the watchtower. Vanitas helps Dale into the first rowboat before climbing into the second with Riku and waiting for Roxas to get aboard.

Blood gleams on Vanitas' dark tunic, but they'd both packed a change of clothes. Silently, Vanitas picks up the oars. Roxas clears his throat. Dale turns to him.

Roxas inclines his head east, towards the mouth of the bay. "Remember: you _must_ start rowing at sunrise, even if the chain is up. Every moment you delay means losing the tide."

Dale grasps the oars. "We will be ready."

"Then good luck." Roxas says. Without another word, Dale begins rowing to the other ship, his strokes a bit too loud for Roxas' liking, but not enough to be detected.

Vanitas and Riku, too, start rowing, slipping around the curve of the prow and heading toward the docks at a casual, unsuspicious pace.

"Nervous?" Riku asks, his voice barely audible above the steady slice of his oars through the calm bay."

"No." Roxas lies.

Ahead of them are the golden lights of Knave's Bay. Hoots and cheers echo across the water. Word has certainly spread about the free ale.

Roxas smiles slightly. "Get ready to unleash hell."


	20. Chapter 19

Through the chant of the crowd roared around them, Rude and Riku have their eyes closed in concentration as their throats move up and down, down and up, chugging their mugs of ale. And Roxas, watching it from his mask, cannot stop laughing.

It isn't that hard to pretend Riku was drunk and they are having the grandest time in the world. Mostly because of Roxas' mask, but also because Vanitas and Riku play the part very, very well.

Rude slams his mug on the table, letting out s satisfied "Ah!" and wiping his wet mouth on his sleeve as the gathered crowd cheers. Roxas cackles, his masked face oozing sweat. Like everyplace else on this island, the tavern is suffocatingly hot, and the odor of ale and unwashed bodies pours from every crevice and stone.

It is packed to capacity. A three-man ensemble made up of an accordion, a fiddle, and a tambourine play raucously in the corners by the hearth. Pirates swap stories and call for their favorite songs. Peasants and lowlives drink themselves into oblivion and gambling on rigged games of chance. Harlots patrol the room, milling around tables and sitting on laps.

Across from Roxas, Rude grins and Riku drains the last from his mug. Or so Rude thought. Given how often drinks are spilled and splashed, no one really notices the constant puddle around Riku's mug, and the hold he'd drilled into the bottom of it is too small to detect.

The crowd disperses, and Roxas laughs as he raises his hand. "Another round, gentlemen?" he cries, signaling for the barmaid.

"Well," Rude says. "I think it's safe to safe that I prefer you like this when we're discussing business."

Vanitas leans in, a conspirator's grin on his face. "Oh, I do, too. He's horrible most of the time."

Roxas kicks him – hard enough, because Roxas knew it wasn't entirely a lie – and Vanitas yelps. Rude chuckles.

Roxas flips the barmaid a copper as the woman refills Rude's and Riku's mug.

"So, will I ever get to see the face behind that mask and hood?" Rude leans forward to rest his arms on the sodden table. The clock behind the bar reads three thirty in the morning. They have to act soon. Given how crowded the tavern is, and how many of the pirates are already halfway unconscious, it is a miracle there is any ale left in Knave's Bay. If Rude doesn't kill him for freeing the slaves, then Rude might very well murder Roxas for starting a tab with not nearly enough money to pay for it all.

Roxas leans closer. "If you make my master and me as much money as you claim, I'll show you my face."

Rude glances at the tattooed map on his hands.

"Did you really sell your soul for that?" Roxas asks.

"When you show me your face, I'll tell you the truth."

Roxas extends his hand. "Deal." He shakes it. Vanitas raises his mug – already drained half an inch from the small hole in the bottom – and salutes their promise before both men drink. Roxas fishes out a pack of cards from a cloak pocket. "Care for a game of Kings?"

"If you aren't beggared by the time this night is over," Rude says, "then playing against me will guarantee it."

Roxas clicks his tongue. "Oh, I highly doubt that." He breaks and shuffles the deck three times and deals the cards.

The hours pass by in a series of clanking glasses and perfect card suites, group singing sessions and tales of lands far and near, and as the clock is silenced by the never-ending music, Roxas finds himself leaning into Vanitas' shoulder, laughing as Rude finishes his crude and absurd story of the farmer's wife and her stallions.

Roxas bangs his fist on the table, howling – and that isn't entirely an act, either. As Vanitas slips his hand around Roxas' waist, his touch somehow sends a bright-hot flame through Roxas, he has to wonder if Vanitas is still pretending, too.

In terms of cards, it turns out to be Riku who takes them for everything they are worth, and by the time the clock hands point to give, Rude has shifted into a foul mood.

Unfortunately for him, that mood isn't going to improve. Riku gives Vanitas and Roxas a nod, and Roxas trips a passing pirate, who spills his drink on an already belligerent man, who in turn tries to punch him in the face but he hits the man next to him instead. By luck, at that moment, a trick card falls out of a man's sleeve, a prostitute slaps a pirate wench, and the tavern explodes into a brawl.

People wrestle one another to the ground, some pirates drawing swords and daggers to try to duel their way across the floor. Others jump from the mezzanine to join the fight, swinging themselves across the railing, either attempting to land on tables or aiming for the iron chandelier and missing badly.

The music still plays, and the musicians rise and back farther into the corner. Rude, half-standing, puts a hand on his hilt. Roxas gives him a nod before drawing his sword and charging into the brawling crowd.

With deft flicks of his wrist, he cuts someone's arm and rips another's leg open, but doesn't actually kill anyone. He just needs to keep the fight going – and escalate it enough – to hold all eyes on the town.

As Roxas makes to slip towards the exit, someone grabs him around the waist and throws him into a wooden pillar so hard Roxas knew he'd have a bruise. He squirms in the red-faced pirate's grasp, nearly gagging as his sour breath seeps through his mask. He gets his arm free enough to thrust the pommel of Oblivion between the man's legs. He drops to the ground like a stone.

Roxas barely gets a step away before a hairy fist slams into his jaw. Pain blinds him like lighting, and he tastes blood in his mouth. Roxas quickly feels his mask to ensure it isn't cracked or about to fall off.

Dodging the next blow, he sweeps his foot behind the man's knee and sends him careening into a yowling cluster of harlots. He doesn't know where Vanitas and Riku had gone, but if they are sticking to the plan, then Roxas doesn't need to worry about him. Weaving through the snarls of fighting pirates, Roxas heads toward the exit, clashing his blade against several unskilled swords.

A pirate with a frayed eye patch raises a clumsy hand to strike him, but Roxas catches it and kicks him in the stomach, sending him flying into another man. They both hit a table, flips over it, and begins fighting between themselves. _Animals_. Roxas stalks through the crowd and out the front door of the tavern.

To his delight, the streets aren't much better. The fight has spread with astonishing speed. Up and down the avenue, pouring out of the other taverns, pirates wrestle and duel and roll on the ground. Apparently, Roxas hasn't been the only one eager for a fight.

Reveling in the mayhem, he is halfway down the street, headed towards the meet-up point with Riku and Vanitas, when Rude's voice booms out from behind him.

" _ENOUGH_!"

Everyone lifts whatever they have in their hands – a mug, a sword, a clump of hair – and salutes.

And then promptly resume fighting.

Laughing to himself, Roxas hurries down an alley. Vanitas and Riku are already there, blood seeping from Riku's nose, Vanitas seemingly unharmed and leaning his shoulder against the brick with hands in his pockets. Both their eyes are bright.

"I'd say that went pretty well." Vanitas says.

Roxas smiles. "I never knew you were such an expert card player." He looks to Riku. Then he eyes the two assassins. "Or that either of you were expert drunkards."

Riku grins. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Roxas Skyes."

Vanitas then grabs Roxas' shoulder, suddenly closer than he'd like. "Ready?" he asks, and Roxas nods, looking to the lightening sky.

"Let's go." Roxas pulls out of Vanitas' grasp and yanks off his gloves, stuffing them in his pockets. "The watch at the tower must have changed by now. We've got until dawn to disable that chain and the catapults."

They'd debated for a while about whether it would be more useful to just destroy the chain from its unguarded opposite side. But even if they did, they'd still have the catapults to contend with. It was better to risk the guards and take out both the chain and the catapults at once.

"When we're done with this, Roxas" Riku says, heading towards the side street that leads to the docks, "remind me to teach you how to play cards properly."

Roxas curses colorfully enough to make the other two assassins laugh, and launch into a run.

They turn onto a quiet street just as someone steps out of the shadows.

"Going somewhere?"

It is Rude.

Down the slope of the street, Roxas can perfectly see the two slave ships sitting – still unmoving – in the bay, and the mast-snapping chain not too fa from them. Unfortunately, from this angle, so could Rude.

The sky has turned light grey. Dawn.

Roxas bows his head to the Pirate Lord. "I'd rather not get my hands dirty in that mess."

Rude's lips form a thin line. "Funny, given that you tripped the man who started the brawl."

Riku and Vanitas glare at Roxas. He'd been subtle, damn it!

Rude draws his sword, the dragon's eyes gleaming in the growing light. "And also funny, since you've bene spoiling for a fight for days, that you suddenly decided to vanish when everyone's attention is elsewhere."

Vanitas raises his hands. "We don't want any trouble."

Rude chuckles, a harsh, humorless sound. "Maybe you don't, Claris Hobson – that is if that's even your real name – but _he_ does." Rude steps towards Roxas, his sword dangling at his side. "He's wanted trouble since the moment he got here. What's your plan? Steal treasure? Information?"

From the corner of his eye, something shifts in the ships. Like a bird flexing its wings, a row of oars shoot out form their sides. They are ready. And the chain is still up.

 _Don't look, don't look, don't look_ . . .

But Rude looks, and Roxas' breathing turns shallows as she scans the ships.

Riku and Vanitas tense, their knees bending slightly.

"I don't know who you are, but I'm going to kill you." Rude breaths, and he means it.

Roxas' fingers tighten around his sword, and Rude opens his mouth, lungs filing with air as he prepare to shout a warning.

Quick as a whip, Roxas does the only thing he could think of to distract him.

His mask clatters to the ground, and he shakes off his hood. His golden hair gleams in the growing light.

Rude freezes. "You . . . you're . . ."

Roxas smirks. "Surprise."

"What sort of trickery is this?"

Beyond them, the oars begin moving, churning the water as the boats turn towards the chain – and the freedom beyond it. "Go," he murmurs to Riku. " _Now_."

Riku only nods before he sprints down the street.

Left with Vanitas and Rude, Vanitas draws two wicked daggers and Roxas raises his sword. "Roxas Skyes, at your service."

The pirate is still staring at him, his face pale with rage. "How _dare_ you deceive me?"

Roxas sketches a bow, grinning widely. "I did nothing of the sort. I _told_ you I was handsome."

He smiles wider when he sees the confliction that makes its way across Rude's face. He doesn't know whether to gravel or cower or attack. Roxas knew his previous reputation stretched far off to all corner of Ivalice, but how long did the news of his father's new occupation travel? It's clear that Roxas' old reputation is still alive if Rude's face says anything.

Before Roxas can stop him, Rude shouts. "They're trying to steal out ships! To your boats! To the watchtower!"

A roar erupts around them, and Roxas prays that Riku can reach the watchtower before the pirates catch him.

Vanitas is already upon Rude, slashing with his daggers, but Rude blocks both the deadly swipes meant to end him and forces Vanitas as he avoids getting rammed in the stomach by the Pirate Lord's foot.

The two assassins circle the Pirate Lord. He circles them, too. He isn't drunk in the least.

"How old are you now?" Each of his steps is carefully placed, but Roxas notices that he keeps shifting to expose his left side.

"Nineteen." Roxas says, his voice naturally low and gravelly.

Rude swears. "My contact send _you_ out to deal with me?"

"I have nothing to do with your _pathetic_ trade. I'm here on my own business."

With a growl, the Pirate Lord lunges.

Roxas dances back, swinging up his sword to block the blow Rude aims for his throat. Roxas doesn't need to kill him right away – just to distract him long enough to prevent him from further organizing his men. And keep him away from the ships. He has to buy Riku enough time to disable the chain and the catapults. The ships are already turning towards the mouth of the bay.

Rude launches again, and Roxas lets him land two strikes on his sword before he ducks the third blow and Vanitas comes rolling over his back, smacking aside the blade and slamming his foot into Rude's stomach. Vanitas sweeps his foot, and Rude staggers back a step. Not missing a beat, Vanitas pulls out his long hunting knife, slashing for Rude's chest. He lets his blow fall short, ripping through the fine blue material of his tunic instead.

Rude stumbles into the wall of a building behind him, but catches his footing and dodges Roxas' blow that would have taken his head off. The vibrations of his sword hitting stone stings his hand, but Roxas keeps hold of the hilt.

"What is the plan?" Rude pants above the roar of the pirates rushing towards the docks. "Steal my slaves and take all the profit?"

Roxas laughs. "My father would never delve in your desperate grasp for money." Roxas feints to Rude's right, but sweeping for his unprotected left with his dagger. To Roxas' surprise, Rude deflects both moves in a swift, sure motion. "I'm freeing them." Roxas says. Beyond the chain, beyond the mouth of the bay, the cloud on the horizon begin to color with the light of the coming dawn.

"Fool," Rude spits, and this time feints so well that even Roxas can't avoid the rake of his sword across his arm. Warm blood seeps through his black tunic. Roxas hisses, darting away a few steps. A careless mistake.

Vanitas leaps in front of Roxas kicking up a thick spray of a puddle. Rude blocks it with his forearm, but that's all Vanitas needs to spin and whirl his leg high to Rude's bald head. Vanitas kicks again with the same leg only kneeing Rude this time in the chest. Vanitas crosses his arms, intending on slicing them across Rude's neck, but the Pirate Lord brings up his sword to block the daggers and shoves Vanitas off; the assassin needing to flip back on his hands to avoid a hard slash of the sword's blade. Sliding slightly when he lands on his feet, Vanitas skillfully spins the daggers between his hands.

"You think freeing two hundred slaves will solve anything?" Rude kicks a fallen bottle of liquor at Roxas. He knocks it aside with the flat of his sword, his right arm screaming in pain. Glass shatters behind him. "There are thousands of slaves out there. Are you going to march into Mythril and Gollund and free them, too?"

Behind the Pirate Lord, the steady strokes of the oars propel the ships toward the chain. Riku has to hurry.

Rude shakes his head. "Stupid boy. If I don't kill you, my contact will."

"I'm not afraid of some rooster-strutting noble who clearly doesn't have _nearly_ enough wealth if he's dealing with you and your pricks."

Not giving him the luxury of a warning, Roxas throws himself at the Rude. The assassin ducks, twirling, and Rude barely turns before Roxas slams the pommel of his sword into the back of his head.

The Pirate Lord crumples to the dirt street just as a crowd of bloodied and filthy pirates appear around the corner. Vanitas sheathes his hunting knives and immediately starts to sprint with Roxas. Roxas only has time to throw his hood over his head, hoping the shadows conceal enough of his face. Vanitas manages to turn hallway and send five daggers flying from each hand towards the mass.

When at least eight go down, the two assassins take off down the street.

It doesn't take long to get away from a group of half-drunk battle-crazed pirates. Roxas and Vanitas only had to split up and lead them down a few twisted streets, and then they lost them. But the wound on Roxas' arm still slows him considerably as he and Vanitas run for the watchtower. Riku is already far ahead. Releasing the chain is now in his hands.

Pirates rage up and down the docks, seeking any boat that is in working order. That had been the final leg of their journey last night: disabling the rudders in all of the ships along the docks, including Rude's own ship, the _Hero's Crest_ – which honestly deserved to be tampered with, given that security on board had been so lax. But, despite the damage, some pirates manage to find rowboats and pile into them, brandishing swords or cutlasses or axes and shouting profanities to the high heavens. The ramshackle buildings blur as the assassins sprint towards the watchtower. Roxas' breath is ragged in his throat, a night of no sleep already taking its toll.

Roxas sprints ahead while Vanitas slows to draw the bow he kept on his back and loads an arrow. Just as Roxas barrels past a rowboat full of men, an arrow penetrates through one man's skull. As Vanitas fires at those on the boats, Roxas draws his daggers and deals with those who are still on the docks preparing to jump into whatever boat is deemed useful.

Ten immediately fall with deep cuts to their arms and legs and bashes to their heads. He dances and ducks and twirls and slices, blood arching in the air and splattering and speckling across his face, hands and arms. Arrows fly past him, narrowly missing his head and landing in the next man he faces.

Roxas looks over his shoulder and finds Vanitas has already wounded if not killed most of the men in the rowboats; arrows lodged in their skulls, chests, arms and legs.

The next man that faces off against Roxas earns cuts on his wrists and then a kick to his side that sends him into one fully stocked boat and making it capsize from the odd weight.

The salves still row for the chain as if demons from every Hell-realm are upon them.

Roxas and Vanitas charge down the road, heading for the edge of the town. With the sloping, wide-open road, they can see Riku racing far ahead – and a large group of pirates not too far behind him. The multiple twang of Vanitas' bow string sounds and Roxas watches as four to five of the chasing pirates fall in a heap, the other tripping over the bodies. The cut on Roxas' arm throb, but he pushes himself to run faster.

Riku has mere minutes to get that chain down, or else the slaves' ships would shatter upon it. Even if the slaves' ships are able to stop before they hit it, there are enough smaller boats heading out that the prates will overpower them. The pirates have weapons. Aside from whatever was onboard the ships, the slaves are unarmed, even if many of them had been warriors and rebels.

The sound of the firing bow grows distant, but Roxas can still see the arrows zip past him in blurs of black lines. There is a flash of movement from the half-crumbling tower. Steel glimmers, and there is Riku, charging up the staircase that winds up the outside of the tower.

Two pirates rush down the steps, swords raised. Riku dodges one, knocking him down with a swift strike to the spine. Before the pirate has even finishes falling, Roxas' blade skewers the other man clean through the middle. More flints of black shoot for any man standing that holds a sword, piercing through their arms and necks.

The deck slowly grows quiet, and Roxas is able to hear hurried footsteps behind him, the gait familiar enough that Roxas doesn't have to look behind him to know who it is.

But there is still Mencetto to disable, along with the two catapults, and –

And the dozen pirates who have now reached the foot of the tower.

Roxas curses. He is still too far, and Vanitas will run out of arrows. There is no way Roxas can make it in time to disable the chain – the ships will crash into it long before he gets there.

Roxas swallows the pain in his arm, focusing on his breathing as he runs and runs, not daring to take his eyes off the tower ahead. Riku, still a tiny figure in the distance, reaches the top of the tower and the expanse of open stone where the anchor to the chain lies. Even from here, Roxas can tell it is gargantuan. A blur of black and dark blue reaches his side, and the hint of gold calms Roxas' nerves. And as Riku rushes around it, hacking at whatever he can, throwing himself against the enormous lever, all three assassins realize the horrible truth, the one thing Roxas had overlooked: the chain is too heavy for one man to move.

The salves' ships are close now. So close that stopping . . . stopping is impossible.

They are going to die.

But the slaves don't cease rowing.

The dozens of pirates are climbing the stairs. Riku has been trained to engage multiple men in combat, but a dozen pirates . . . Damn Rude and his men for delaying him!

Vanitas, still keeping speed with Roxas, is down to his last dozen arrows; the pirate closets to the ship drop dead.

Riku glances towards the stairs. He knew about the pirates, too.

Roxas can see everything with such maddening clarity. Riku remains atop the tower. A level below him, perched on a platform jutting out over the sea, sits the two catapults. And in the bay, the two ships that row with increasing speed. Freedom or death.

Riku slung himself down to the catapult level, and Roxas staggers a step as the silver-haired assassin hurls himself against the rotating platform on which the catapult sits, pushing, pushing until the catapult begins to move – not towards the sea, but towards the tower itself, towards the spot in the stone wall where the chain is anchored.

Roxas doesn't take his attention from the tower as Riku heaves the catapult into position. A boulder has already been loaded, and in the glare of the rising sun, he can just make out the rope stretched taut to secure the catapult.

The pirate are almost at the catapult level, and the arrows have stopped firing. The two ships row faster and faster, the chain so close that its shadow looms over them.

Roxas sucks in a breath as pirates pour onto the catapult landing, weapons held high.

Riku raises his sword. Light from the sunrise gleams off the blade, bright as a star.

A warning cry breaks from Roxas' lips as a pirate's dagger flips towards Riku.

Riku brings his sword down on the catapult rope, doubling over. The catapult snaps so fast Roxas can hardly hollow the motion. The boulder slams into the tower, shattering stone, wood, and metal. Rock explodes, dust clouding the air.

And with a boom that echoes across the bay, the chain collapses, taking out a chunk of the tower – taking out the spot where Roxas had last seen Riku.

Roxas, reaching the tower at last, pauses to watch as the white sails of the slaves' ships unfurl, glowing golden in the sunrise.

The wind fills their sails and sets them cruising, flying swiftly from the mouth of the bay and into the ocean beyond it. By the time the pirates fixed their ships, he salves will be too far away to catch.

Roxas murmurs a prayer for them to find a safe harbor, his words carrying on the wings of the wind, and wishes them well.

A block of stone crashes near him. Roxas' heart gives a lurch. Riku.

He can't be dead. Not from that dagger, or those dozen pirates, or from the catapult. No, Riku couldn't be _so_ stupid that he'd get himself killed. Roxas would . . . Roxas would . . . well, he'd kill Riku if he was dead.

Drawing his sword despite the ache in his arm, Roxas makes to rush into the half-wrecked tower, but a familiar hand grabs his shoulder. Roxas is about to wrench himself free, his mouth filling with words ready to argue, but –

His spine tingles, and he could feel his Elven sense snap into place, but he doesn't feel the shift happen; his body still mortal.

He senses the blow only a heartbeat before Vanitas strikes him.

Roxas topples to the ground, the stone scraping against his palm and cheek. He doesn't have time to raise himself before the tip of a needle injects itself into his neck.


	21. Chapter 20

For a few panicked seconds, Roxas scrambles like a flopping fish before he brings his hand up to shove the syringe away, but it pulls with it the skin that the needle pierced. The pain forms a scream that claws in the back of Roxas' throat.

" _Vanitas_!" he tries to scream, but something about the needle in his neck makes his voice croak.

Feeling the needle pull free at last, warmth runs down his neck, but whatever was in that syringe works instantly. Roxas' vision blurs, and his body starts to grow heavy. It feel as if someone has replaced his blood with molasses, and his bones are like lead. An invisible thread tugs him towards sleep but Roxas wants to be awake.

The first thing that comes to Roxas' mind is poison, so immediately he thinks: _Shift. Shift, now_!

Roxas clenches his teeth and tries to picture that veil that he pierces through, but it's as if the veil is behind a wall of translucent, blurring blackness. Throwing himself against it, a blinding pain nearly makes Roxas black out.

He tries again, quickly, and feels his skin stretch for only the slightest second before retracting and hardening like clay.

He can't shift.

How . . . ? How . . . ! What did Vanitas do?!

He can't shift.

Shaking his head, Roxas turns his head to find Vanitas approaching, armed with nothing but his bare hands, and a face of neutrality. Something is wrong. He has to be under a spell, brainwashed, mind controlled . . . anything!

Even as black speckling dots begin to swirl into his vision, Roxas forces himself to his feet and his shaking hands to find the hilt of his sword. But then another blow strikes Roxas' jawline and the pain crackles along his cheek and into his skull. A crackling kick to his knees has Roxas toppling to the concrete once more.

Roxas doesn't even have time to raise his hands in defense before Vanitas grabs Roxas by the collar and swings again, his fist connecting with Roxas' cheek. Light and darkness reel. Another blow, hard enough that Roxas feels the warmth of his blood on his face before he feels the pain.

 _Concentrate_! _Fight_!

Miraculously, Roxas brings his hand up and catches Vanitas' next oncoming fist, twists it until he hears the bones pop and hurls Vanitas over him. Rolling with the momentum, Roxas rolls onto his feet, but bends to one knee as the world spins.

When Roxas turns, he finds Vanitas hurling towards him, the swords Oblivion and Oathkeeper in his hands. Roxas' hands tremble as they desperately feel around his belt. _No_. _No_ , _that bastard_!

"Vanitas!" Roxas whimpers, his words slurred and blood pooling into his mouth and lining his lips.

But the ebony-haired assassin doesn't say anything as he spins the swords, digging the tips into the ground and swinging himself around. His ember-gold eyes gleam as his leg comes up and nails Roxas in the right cheek.

The world spins again, and Vanitas hits him again. Roxas tastes blood, yet he doesn't fight back, doesn't dare to. At least, not with blades. Something has to be wrong.

Swallowing a large mouthful of his blood, Roxas focuses as best he can as he brings his arms up and blocks Vanitas' fists one after another; not as on point as Roxas would like, but at least they don't connect with his face. After a few more blocks and a couple steps back, Roxas grabs one of Vanitas' fists, kicks him in the stomach and then punches Vanitas right in the cheek not missing a beat.

Vanitas hisses, but he has enough sense that he manages to rip Roxas' daggers from its sheath and tosses it into the brush. Then he takes another, and then another; Roxas unable to stop him and earning more blows to his stomach.

Whatever was in the syringe is making him sway and stumble. Roxas' stomach grumbles and he burps a few times, blood pooling around his mouth and stinging the back of his throat.

Roxas glimpses at the half-ruined tower, at the dust still swirling from the catapult's destruction. How could Riku have survived that?

The hand grabs Roxas and Vanitas hits him again – hits his ribs, his jaw, his gut. And his face. Again and again and again. As Roxas opens his mouth to speak, Vanitas' elbow comes crashing down, making Roxas gasp and wheeze with such desperation that he falls to his knees.

When he's regained enough breath to get his voice above a whisper, Vanitas is already upon him. "Vanitas," Roxas begs between punches and spurts of blood that arc in the air with each connecting blow. "Stop." He croaks, his voice like gravel and choppy.

These are careful blows – blows meant to inflict as much damage as possible without doing permanent damage.

As Roxas goes for a retaliation punch, Vanitas catches it and spins Roxas until his hands are pinned. The move with such maddening ease that Roxas wants to scream, but he is still in too much shock.

"Stop! What's wrong with you?!" Roxas croaks with as much power as he can throw into his sore voice.

A dagger presses to his throat. Without a word, Vanitas pushes the blade into Roxas' neck, and his skin splits open with a stinging burst. Vanitas shifts the blade, digging in and making Roxas wince despite himself.

 _Fight_!

Throwing his back into Vanitas' chest, Roxas hooks his foot behind his. Vanitas stumbles, tripping over Roxas' leg, and the vertiginous blonde wedges his hand between his neck and Vanitas' dagger just as the blade make the motion to slit his throat.

He manages to switch their positions, and says, "Please, stop."

When Roxas expects Vanitas to pulls the same trick, he's once again caught off-guard when he feels Vanitas relax. Roxas' arms are so heavy and his head is so light that he loosens himself and Vanitas wrenches himself free, stomping on Roxas' foot for good measure.

Vanitas takes the dagger from Roxas and begins to swipe at the blonde like he had to Rude in the alley. Roxas brings his palm up, but realizes that the palm that has the scar, the declaration of his oath to Ventus, it blocked by his left hand. As if subconsciously he doesn't want another scar to cover up the oath he had made to his friend.

The blade slashes into Roxas' hand, and the blonde screams. Blood from Roxas' palm splatters down Vanitas' tunic, but he shoves the pain aside and butts his elbow into Roxas' stomach. The blonde's breath whooshes out of him, and he doubles over, only to meet Vanitas' knee slamming into his face. A faint _crack_ hurls Roxas to the dirt, blood is on his pant leg – _Roxas'_ blood.

His back crashes into something hard and wooden, and with a kick in the stomach, Roxas falls through a doorway and slams his head against a sharp corner of . . . something.

The last thing Roxas remembers is a pang of hollowing sorrow at the sight of his blood staining the toe of Vanitas' boot. And then darkness, blissful darkness, full of grief that he had lost not just one friend, but two.

* * *

Roxas wakes with a pounding headache.

He keeps his eyes shut, letting his sense taking in his surroundings before he announces to the world that he is awake. Wherever he is, it is quiet, and damp and cold, and reeks of mildew and refuse.

He opens his eyes, finding himself in a broken down carriage, dumped onto a rotten pallet of hay and chained to the wall. The carriage appears to be the victim of a fire, as the wood has been burned black, along with most of what was a red-cushioned seat and draperies. And it appeared that the wagon has been topped on its side, like the victim of a crowd of rioters. His feet have also been shackled to the floor, and both sets of chains have just enough slack that he can make it to the filthy bucket in the corner to relieve himself.

He tests the chains on his wrists and ankles, examining where they are anchored into the wooden floor and walls, looking for every link, studying the locks. They are solid. All the pins have bene pulled out of his boots and wrists and vambraces, robbing him of any chance to try and pick the lock. His belt so much lighter as it's been dripped of all of the blades he carried with him.

His mouth is parched, his tongue leaden in his mouth. His throat feels like he has swallows a softball. His skin feels tight and prickles with pain from the dried blood under his nose, down the side of his temple and along his neck. His stomach is painfully empty, or that could just be because of the possibility of broken ribs and severe bruising caused by . . . by . . .

Not knowing what drove him to, but sensing the presence, Roxas' head jerks upwards and there he finds the silhouette.

He looks just as beautiful and, normal, as Roxas has already remembered. His face has a few light, speckled scars along his cheekbones and jaw, his hair is wavering ever so slightly in the wind and his ember-gold eyes are bright and gleaming. If Roxas squints he can just make out a small dried tear patch marking its way down Vanitas' cheek. He stares down at Roxas, his face hard.

Roxas stares back, not sure what to do. If Vanitas was under some kind of spell, he would've sensed it. He would've freed Roxas by now. Why . . .? This has to be another hallucination, another bad dream, and when he breathes, he will be fine.

"Why . . .?" Roxas croaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vanitas just stares, and Roxas, for some stupid and foolish reason, hopes that Vanitas will explain something to him, something that will make sense of the series of unfortunate events that had just happened leading up to this point.

But the beautiful, golden-eyed assassin simple sighs, his shoulders drooping.

"I'm sorry." He whispers. Tears spill over Vanitas' cheeks. "It's for the best."

Roxas tenses as he sees Vanitas' arm move to the side.

"Vanitas . . ." Roxas breathes, panicked.

The shadow of the door starts to creep and block out the light that silhouettes Vanitas' form. Panic surges through Roxas' body so sudden and strong that he jerks against the chains enough his wrists begin to bleed.

" _Vanitas_!"

The door to the carriage loudly slams shut.


	22. Chapter 21

Vanitas walks up the half-crumbling stairs of the tower, stepping over pirate corpses and chunks of stone, not stopping until he finds the crushed bodies of the dozen pirates who were closest to Riku and the ruins of the catapults. Blood, bone, squished bits of flesh that Vanitas doesn't particularly care to look at for too long . . .

"Riku." Vanitas calls, slipping over a bit of debris. He heaves a slab of wood off the side, scanning the landing for any sign of him. "Riku!"

Vanitas' hands begin bleeding, leaving smears of blood as he turns over stand and wood and metal. Where _is_ he?

He reaches the second catapult, its entire frame snapped in half from a fallen piece of tower. He'd last seen Riku here. A slab of stone juts up from where it had hit the landing. It is large enough to have squashed someone beneath.

Vanitas hurls himself against it, his feet sliding against the ground as he pushes and pushes and pushes. The stone doesn't move.

Grunting, grasping, he shoves harder. Still the stone is too large.

Cursing, Vanitas beats a fist against the gray surface, his injured hand aching in protest. The pain snaps something open, and he strikes the stone again and again, clenching his jaw to keep the building scream inside of him.

"For some reason, I don't think that's going to make the rock move." says a voice, and Vanitas whirls.

Emerging from the other side of the landing is Riku. He is covered head to toe in grey dust, and blood leaks from a cut in his forehead, but he is . . .

Vanitas lifts his chin. "I've been looking for you."

Riku shrugs, sauntering over to Vanitas. "I figured you could wait a few minutes, given that I saved the day and all." His brows rise high on his ash-covered face.

"Some hero." Vanitas gestures to the ruin of the tower around them. "I've never seen such sloppy work."

Riku smiles, his blue eyes turning cerulean in the dawn. It is such a Riku look, the twinkle of mischief, the hint of exasperation, the kindness that will always, always make him a better person than he is.

Before Vanitas knew what he is doing, Vanitas throws his arms around him and holds Riku close.

Riku stiffens, but after a heartbeat, his arms come around Vanitas. It's not that Riku is doesn't like giving hugs, nor is it that they don't get along, it's just . . . apart from Roxas or even Sora, Vanitas usually never embraces anyone. Riku can't remember – honestly can recall – the last time anyone had ever held Vanitas, instead of Vanitas holding them. No, wait – it had been six years ago. It was after Vanitas had come back late at night from a mission two hours late with a sprained ankle. Riku had been worried, and given how close Vanitas had come to being captured by the royal guards, Vanitas was more than a bit shaken.

But still, Vanitas has always been sort of the rock of the rebel groups since Roxas' self-exile of the Guild. He's been serious, strong, and independent like a leader, and something about hits embrace feels . . . different.

"Riku," Vanitas murmurs into the silver-haired assassin's chest.

"Hmm?"

Vanitas peels away from him, stepping out of his arms. "If you ever tell anyone about me embracing you . . . I'll gut you."

Riku gapes at him, then tips his head back and laughs. Riku laughs and laughs, until dust lodges in his throat and he lances into a coughing fit. Vanitas lets him suffer through it, not finding it very funny at all.

When Riku can breathe again, he clears his throat. "Come on, Vanitas." He says, slinging on arm around Vanitas' shoulders. "If we're done liberating slaves and destroying pirate cities, then let's go home."

Vanitas glances at him sidelong.

"So, where's Roxas?" Vanitas' heart skips a beat and he immediately halt his steps. Riku doesn't notice, still taking a couple steps forward, his arm sliding off. "I thought he'd be the first to star bragging about how his plan had gone so perfectly."

Riku stops when he doesn't hear Vanitas following and turns.

His heart sinks at the sight.

Vanitas' head is down, shoulders curled forward. He's taking small, uneven breathes and Riku can practically hear his heart thundering.

"Vanitas . . ." Riku breathes.

The golden-eyed assassin lifts his head, and Riku can feel his knees buckle when he sees the glimmer of sorrow.

"Roxas . . ." Vanitas chokes, but his voice gives out. His throat constricting.

"Vanitas," Riku takes a step closer, his body prickling with numbness, and a cold sweat forms on the back of his neck. _Gods_ . . .

The dark-haired assassin looks into his eyes.

"What happened?"

* * *

Curled into the corner of the wagon, Roxas Skyes tugs at the chains on his wrist.

The moment that the door had slammed shut, panic devoured every bit of Roxas' sense and he started to yell, scream and wail while pulling his wrists and ankles against the chains. His breath became uneven and quick, using up most of the air available in the wagon. Once he began to feel lightheaded, to the point of nausea and dizziness, he just sat there in silence, trying to reclaim control of his breathing.

By now, he has regained enough air to settle his head, but now, he doesn't have the desire to move. His wrists hurt too much, already tainted with blood both new and dried as it streams down his arms and slowly tickles his feet. He still can't shift, so it wasn't that long that Vanitas had knocked him out and carried him to the carriage.

 _Vanitas_. A snarl breaks over Roxas' lips. Why. Why? Why?! That's the only thing that keeps buzzing around Roxas' head like an angry bee. Why had he attacked Roxas? What drove him to such an iniquitous act? Why? Why?! _Why_?!

How what can he do? What will happen? Sora Axel! What if he tries to attack them? Riku. He never got to say goodbye. Did he do it to prevent Roxas from finding Riku? Things like this don't add up and severely conflict with how long Roxas has known Vanitas. The thing they've been through. The missions, the blood, the running, the fights.

Why?

Roxas then screams, unleashing his frustration and suddenly thrashing and tugging and yanking against the chains, feeling that creature, that monster whom he had locked away – that monster from Twilight Town that killed and burned and bit – slowly growing more and more agitated. In his mind, can feel the creature underneath his skin. It paces back and forth, back and forth, growling and calling for blood.

Axel. He had just woken up from a coma, for three months! And now Roxas has already been away from him for a month just from sailing to Knave's Bay, and now, he will never go home. Sora. The innocent, sweet servant boy that had the heart of gold. Gods, to just even think of the look on his face.

What will Vanitas do now? Will he kill everyone else? Is he working for someone else?

Roxas screams and pulls tighter against the chains, not even feeling the pain as the cuffs dig into his wrists and ankles, letting loose more blood, the metal coming up red. Tears fall over his cheeks. He can't even feel his magic anymore. It's like that well that was deep inside him, it has come up dry and he can't access even the smallest drop of it.

Whatever was in that syringe, it had to have some dosage of iron in it. Combined with the iron in the mortal body naturally, it's like putting a padlock on his magic and locking it back. Like that flame, that wildfire inside of him has been condemned.

So he's stuck, stuck in his mortal body with no magic and no weapons.

Perhaps if someone a man to come in, Roxas could get him close enough to use the chains against him – strangle him or knock him unconscious, or hold him hostage long enough for someone to let him out. Or if it's a woman, he can feign innocence and defenseless enough that she will find someone to unlock him. If it's a guard, he'll use plan one.

Perhaps –

Suddenly there's a pop of the carriage foundation. Roxas jerks, rattling the chains and then mentally cursing himself. Then the carriage starts to rock, and Roxas does his best to brace himself as he feels the carriage tip upright and settle itself on its wheels. Still, splays of dust leak in from the wood above, showing and settling into Roxas' hair. The door suddenly bangs and the hinges begin to crack, there's someone fiddling with the lock. Roxas doesn't dare open his mouth.

The first thing he hears is the sound of men's muffled voices. Then more fiddling with the lock. Grunting, kicking and then the sound of wood being pried out of place.

The door groans open, and a man fills the threshold, three others behind him.

The sky behind them has grown dark. That could mean that Riku might very well be dead, or Vanitas has already killed him. And with Axel in Ivalice, and his father all the way back in Kingdom Hearts, there is no one who can help him. Roxas is on his own.

The man's tunic is dark and embroidered with golden thread. He is surprised to see Roxas, and he braces his hands against the doorframe, but doesn't step inside.

Royal guards.

Still consumed with panic, Roxas whimpers and scrambles back, stirring up small ruts of dirt as he pushes himself further into the corner.

"Who are you?" the guard says, his voice is smooth and calm.

Roxas stares at him. He is middle-aged, perhaps forty. He wears no weapons – a precaution? Usually, the royal guards joined young and stayed until they are too old to carry a sword. That means this man had years of extensive training. It is too dark to see the three guards behind him, but Roxas knew the guards don't normally inspect such sights such as a burned carriage alone.

"Who are you?" the guard repeats, his voice still the same.

What can Roxas do? His hood and mask and cloak are gone, revealing his blond hair, and his eyes have no doubt lost their luster and been replaced with insanity. Still, he stares at the guard, and digs and digs and digs his way down into himself to find a small flicker of defiance.

"Roxas." The assassin manages to say. The guard's eyes narrow, and the other three step close, eyes wide. "Roxas Skyes."

And that's all he needed to say before the guards filed into the carriage, snap the chains from the floor and wall, but keeping the shackles on Roxas' wrists and ankles. Confused, Roxas struggles a little, but the men act fast, punching and beating Roxas down until they had to carry him into another carriage, only it's a wagon – a prison wagon.

Even more bloodied, it is then Roxas knew where he would be going, and despite the fear that lanced his heart, Roxas doesn't bother to fight, doesn't bother to struggle or bite.

What more can he do? These are _royal guards_. Is this what Vanitas had been planning? And what will befall the others? Vanitas can surely kill them too, or he might just sail back to Kingdom Hearts and name himself Twilight Town's newest assassin. Roxas should try to get out, try to get back to Axel, but . . . he can't. And it because he knew Axel is safe, he is in good hands. He's with Reno, and Reno can comfort both Axel and Sora. But Riku . . . if Riku is alive, surely he will hunt down Vanitas, or even his father one Axel sends word to him.

Out of nowhere, Roxas' thoughts drift back to what Reno had said, and thinks, maybe he had orchestrated the whole thing because he thought Roxas didn't deserve Axel. Roxas would never get the chance to tell Reno that he is sorry for the things he said. All that would remain were the last words Reno had spoken to Roxas. The last thing his friend had thought of him

 _You are nothing more than a coward_.

Suddenly a pounding headache settles over Roxas and he stops his thinking all together.

He just stops. He has nothing left to give.

With Riku possibly dead, and Vanitas now on the loose, Axel and Sora in a safe place, his father all the way back in Kingdom Hearts, there isn't anything left outside of the dungeons worth fighting for, anyway. Not when the Twilight Town's Assassin is crumbling apart, and his world with him.

Roxas watches the splotches of shadows and light plat on the wall. Trees – just beginning to shift into the rich hues of autumn – seem to peer at him through the small, barred window.

He rests his head against the misty wooden wall, listening to the creak of the wagon, the clink of the shackles around his wrists and ankles, the rumbling chatter and occasional laughter of the guards who have been escorting the wagon along its route.

But while he is aware of it all, a deafening sort of silence has settled over Roxas like a cloak. It shuts out everything. His body doesn't feel quite like his own. He knew he was thirsty, ad hungry, and that his fingers are numb with cold, but he can't feel it keenly.

The wagon hits a rut, jostling Roxas so hard that his head knocks into the wall. Even that pain feels distant.

The freckles of light along the panels dance like falling snow.

Like ash.

Ash from a world burned into nothing – lying in ruins around him. Roxas can taste the ash of that dead world on his chapped lips, settling on his leaden tongue.

He preferred the silence. In the silence he can't hear the worst question of all: had he brought this upon himself?

The wagon passes under a particularly thick canopy of trees, blotting out the light. For a heartbeat, the silence thickens and Roxas can feel it smothering him. It worms its way into his skull, into his kin, into his breath and bones.

When it finally claims him, Roxas walks into it with open arms.

When the next he opens his eyes, Roxas finds himself in a dungeon and chained to the wall with different shackles; sturdier, thicker and shinier. The cell wasn't different from the wagon except that there was a filthy bucket in the corner to relieve himself.

That is the first indignity Roxas allows himself to suffer.

Once he's taken care of his bladder, Roxas looks about the cell. No windows, and not enough space between the iron door and the threshold for anything more than light to squeeze through. He can't hear anything – not through the walls, nor coming from outside.

What he wouldn't give for a mouthful of water to wash away the lingering taste of blood. His stomach is still painfully empty, too, and the throbbing in his head sends splinters of light through his skull.

He has been betrayed – betrayed by Vanitas. Someone who will benefit from Roxas bring permanently gone, with no hope of ever coming back. And no one will know until the month trip back is complete, and then by then, it might be too late.

Roxas tests the chains on his wrists and ankles, examining where they are anchored to the floor and walls. They are solid. He feels all the stones around him, tapping for loose bits or possible a whole block that he can use as a weapon. There is nothing.

The door groans open again and in steps the same guard who discovered him in the carriage. He places the food he is carrying on the floor and slides the tray towards Roxas. Water, bread, a hunk of cheese. "Dinner." He says, not stepping one foot in the room.

He and his companions knew the threat of getting too close.

Roxas glances at the tray. Dinner. How long been down here? Has it been nearly a whole day? And Riku _still_ hasn't come for him? Is he really . . . gone?

The guard is watching him. "This dungeon is impenetrable." He says. "And those chains are made with Kerwonean steel."

Kerwonean? How long had the trip been? And is he in Kerwon now, or in Valendia? Surely his name alone would entice the King Sephiroth's attention. But . . .

It doesn't matter.

Even if the guard had said those words to intimidate Roxas into behaving, he is probably telling the truth. No one gets out of the royal dungeons, and no one gets in.

He had failed.

And worse, he failed Ventus. He hadn't even come close to fulfilling the oath he had vowed on his friend's grave that faithful day. He never avenged the boy whose life he had ended so viciously.

The guard shifts on his feet, and Roxas realizes he's been staring at the guard. "The food is clean," is all the guard says before he backs out of the room and shuts the door.

Roxas drinks the water and eats as much of the bread and cheese as he can stomach. He can't tell if the food itself is bland, or if his tongue has just lost all sense of taste. Every bite tastes like ash.

He kicks the tray towards the door when he finishes. Roxas doesn't care that he could have used it as a weapon, or a lure to get one of the guards closer.

Because he isn't getting out, and he had failed.

Roxas leans his head against the freezing, damp wall. He'll never be able to make sure that Riku is safely buried in the earth. He'd failed in even that. He'll never be able to see Axel again; never feel the touch of his hands, or the taste of his tongue, or the pressure of his lips against Roxas' own. He had grown so foreign to the feeling, that when he finally gets it back, it's ripped away from him with merciless finality. He'll never be able to embrace Sora again when he comes home to the mansion, he'll never be able to tell Reno he is sorry.

And the list only goes on. He has failed so many people.

The boy who'd defiled his father, a King of the Assassins, who had battled against his mother, a merciless leader of the Faceless and her entire army, the boy who had helped a healer and lost lover find her way to a better future, the boy who faced against a Pirate Lord and his entire island. The boy who had fallen in love with a pirate, the boy who had felt alive with possibility . . . that boy is gone.

There isn't anything left. And no one is coming.

He has failed.

When the roaring silence comes to claim him again, Roxas walks into it with open arms.

Three days pass. And every meal they bring Roxas is clean, but tart.

Roxas stares into the abyss that now fills his dreams, both sleeping and awake. The forest on the other side is gone, and there is no white stag; only barren terrain all around, crumbling rocks and a vicious wind that whispers the words again and again.

 _You are nothing more than a coward_.

So Roxas stops drinking the water and eating the bread; only to make sure that he can fall asleep faster.

The guards like to talk. About sporting events, about women, about the movement of Tifa Lockheart's armies. About Roxas, most of all.

Sometimes, flickers of their conversation breaks through the wall of silence, holding Roxas' attention for a moment before he lets the quiet sweep him back out to its endless sea.

"The captain's going to be furious he wasn't here for the trial."

"Serves him right for gallivanting with the prince along the Rhana coast."

Sniggers.

"I heard the captain's racking back to Valendia, though."

There. So he _is_ in Valendia. The metal shackles are just borrowed.

"What's the point? The boy's trial is tomorrow. He won't even make it in time to see him executed."

"You think he's really Roxas Skyes?

"He looks my son's age."

"Better not tell anyone – the king said he'd flay us all alive if we breathe one word."

"Hard to imagine that it's him – did you see the list of victims? It went on and on."

"You think he's wrong in the head? He just _looks_ at you without really _looking_ at you, you know?"

"I bet they needed someone to pay for Rude's men and their deaths. They probably grabbed a simple boy to pretend it was him."

Snorts. "Won't matter to the king, will it? And if he won't talk, then it's his own damn fault if he's innocent."

"I don't think he's really Roxas Skyes."

"I heard it'll be a closed trial and execution because the king doesn't want anyone to see him."

"Trust the king to deny everyone else the chance to watch and see who this assassin really is."

"I wonder if they'll hang, or behead him."

* * *

The world flashes. Dungeons, rotten hay, cold stones against his cheek and water. Then guards enter, crossbows aimed at him, hands on their swords. A whole week had passed, somehow. A rag and a bucket of water are thrown at him. Clean himself up for the trial, they said. Roxas obeys. And he doesn't struggle when they give him new shackles on his wrists and ankles – shackles he can walk in. They take Roxas down a dark, cold hallway that echoes with distant groans, then up the stairs. Sunlight shines through a barred window – harsh, blinding – as they go up more stairs, and eventually into a room of stone and polished wood.

The wooden chair is smooth beneath him. His head still aches, and the places where the guards had first beaten him are still sore.

The room is large, but sparsely appointed. He'd been shoved into a chair set in the center of the room, a safe distance from the massive table on the far end – the table at which twelve men sit facing him.

Roxas doesn't care who they are, or what their role is. He man feel their eyes on him, though. Everyone in the room – the men at the table and the dozens of guards- are watching him.

A hanging or a beheading. Roxas' throat closes up.

There is no point in fighting now.

He deserves this. For more reasons than he can count. He should never have allowed Riku to come with, he should have stabbed Vanitas the moment he had. It is all Roxas' fault, all of it, set in motion the day he arrived in Knave's Bay and decided to make a stand for something.

A small door at the back of the room opens, and the men at the table get to their feet.

Heavy boots stomping across the floor, the guards straightening and saluting . . .

The king's advisor enters the room.

Roxas then feels something stir inside him. Relief? Anger? Perhaps even insulted that the king himself isn't here to lead the trial. He is Roxas Skyes dammit! Even if he's give up, he still has a reputation that _should_ have that preening bastard's attention! What could be more important to the king than to decide the fate of Kingdom Heart's – once – greatest assassin? It would have stirred Roxas to move, maybe even stand up from his seat, but apart from the guards armed and ready with weapons, truthfully, Roxas just doesn't care. He doesn't really want to see the king anyway, not like this.

Roxas won't even look at the advisor. Let him to what he wants with him. Perhaps he can shift his voice into thinking it's the king. If Roxas looks into his eyes, what semblance of calm he has will be shredded. So it is better to feel nothing than to cower before him – the pawn of the man who has done so little to protect Ivalice. Better to go to his grave numb and dazed than begging.

A chair at the center of the table is pulled back. The men around the advisor don't sit until he does.

Then silence.

The wooden floor of the room is so polished that Roxas can see the reflection of the iron chandelier hanging far above him.

A low chuckle, like bone against rock. Even without looking at him, Roxas can sense the advisor's mass – the darkness swirling around him.

"I would offer an apology, but it is not required." The advisor says. "Believe it or not, there are more important things the king has to deal with than you, assassin. In this case, he is out of state, dealing with real world problems."

Roxas sits still.

"I didn't believe the rumors until now," The advisor continues. "but it seems the guards were not lying about your age."

A faint urge to cover his ears, to shut out that wretched voice, flickers in the back of Roxas' mind.

"How old are you?"

Roxas doesn't reply. He has failed. Nothing he can do – even if he fights, even if he rages – can change that.

"Did Setzer get his claws on you, or are you just being willful?"

Setzer's face, leering at him, smiling so viciously as he was helpless before him.

"Very well, then," the advisor says. Papers being shuffled, the only sound in the deathly silent room. "Do you deny that you are Roxas Skyes? If you don't speak, then I will take your silence for acquiescence, boy."

Roxas keeps his mouth shut

"Then read the charges, Councilor Wallace."

A male throat is cleared. "You, Roxas Skyes, are charged with the deaths of the following people . . ." And then he begins a long recitation of all those lives Roxas has taken. The brutal story of a bot who is now gone. His father had always seen to it that the world knew of Roxas' handiwork. He always got the word out through secret channels when another victim has fallen to Roxas Skyes. And no, the very thing that has earned has the right to call himself Kingdom Heart's Assassin will be what seals his doom. When it is over, the man says, "Do you deny any of those charges?"

Roxas' breathing is so slow.

"Young man," the councilman says a bit bitterly, "we will take your lack of response to mean you do not deny them. Do you understand?"

Roxas doesn't bother to nod. It is all over anyway.

"Then I will decide your sentence," the advisor growls.

Then there is murmuring, more rustling papers, and a cough. The light on the floor flickers. The guards in the room remain focused on him, weapon at the ready.

Footsteps suddenly thud toward him from the table, and Roxas hears the sound of weapons being angled. He recognizes the footsteps before the advisor even reaches his chair.

"Look at me."

Roxas keeps his head down.

"Look at me."

It makes no difference now, does it? Roxas' life is already destroyed so much – and in turn he's destroyed himself without even knowing it.

" _Look at me_."

Roxas raises his head and look at the advisor of the King of Ivalice. Reeve Tuesti.

The blood drains from Roxas' face. Those black eyes are poised to devour the world; the features are harsh and weathered. He wears a sword at his side – the sword whose name everyone knew – and a fine tunic and fur cloak.

This is the man who is not only the advisor of the king, but also his most trusted and successful general. He was once the general to the Dark Lord Xehanort, and the best one at that. He was there for the slaughter of the Elves in Ivalice and Kingdom Hearts. They say that he had betrayed the Dark Lord in the end, but that doesn't stop the spread of rumors that trail him like a dark cloak. Rumors about how he is a secret traitor to the king, feeding information to Kerwonean soldiers and generals; how he is still secretly conniving with the King of Kerwon in hunting down the remaining Elves of Ivalice; dragging people from their homes in the middle of the night. How he simply longs to dethrone the king. But the king's most trusted guards never even let him get close. And up this close, Roxas can see the truth behind those rumors. See it with the clarity of his elven senses. This man is dark, cruel.

Roxas has to get away. Has to get out of this room, get away from him.

 _Get away_.

"Do you have any last requests before I announce our sentence?" he asks, those eyes still searing through every defense Roxas has ever learned. He can still smell the smoke that has suffocated every inch of Twilight Town eleven years ago, still smell the sizzling flesh and hear the futile screams as the king and his armies wiped out every last trace of resistance, every last trace of magic. No matter what Cloud had trained him to do, the memories of those last weeks as Twilight Town feel are imprinted upon his blood. So Roxas just states at him.

When Roxas doesn't reply, Reeve Tuesti turns on his heel and walks back to the table.

He has to get away. Forever. Brash, foolish fire flares up, and turns Roxas – only for a moment – into that boy again.

"I do," Roxas says, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Reeve Tuesti pauses and looks over his shoulder at Roxas.

Roxas smiles, a wicked, wild thing. " _Make it quick_."

It is a challenge, not a plea. The king's council and the guards shift, some of them murmuring.

The advisor's eyes narrow slightly, and when he smiles at Roxas, is it the most horrific thing Roxas has ever seen.

"Oh?" he says, turning to face Roxas fully.

That foolish fire goes out.

"If it is an easy death you desire, Roxas Skyes, I will certainly not give it to you. Not until you have adequately suffered."

The world balances on the edge of a knife, slipping, slipping, slipping.

"You, Roxas Skyes, are sentenced to nine lives' worth of labor in the Mineral Mines of Gollund."

Roxas' blood turns to ice. The councilmen all glance at one another. Obviously, this option hadn't been discussed beforehand.

"You will be sent with orders to keep you alive for as long as possible – so you will have the chance to enjoy Gollund's special kind of agony."

Gollund. One of Ivalice's most brutal and harsh slave mines in the entire continent.

The king's advisor turns away.

Gollund. The very slave mine he had so desperately – and successfully – freed those salves from.

There is a flurry of motion, and the king's advisor barks an order to have Roxas on the first wagon out of the city. Then there are hands on his arms, and crossbows pointed at him as he is half-dragged out of the room.

Gollund.

New shackles, hammered shut. The dark interior of a prison wagon. The turn of multiple locks, the jostle of horses starting into a walk, and many other horses surrounding the wagon.

Through the small window high in the door wall, Roxas can see the capital, the streets he has grown to know so well, the people milling about and glancing at the prison wagon and the mounted guards, but not thinking about who might be inside. The golden dome of the Royal Theater in the distance, the briny scent of a breeze off the Naldoan Sea, the emerald-tiled roofs and white stones of every building.

All passing by, all so quickly.

There is a gap in between the buildings, and Roxas can see the hill of the Sun Goddess's ruined temple. If he tries hard enough, he can see Reno's terra-cotta roofed mansion where Roxas had trained and bleed and lost so much, the place where Axel sits on a comfy cushioned couch, waiting for Roxas to come home.

The game has been played, and he has lost.

Now they come to the looming alabaster walls of the city, their gates thrown wide to accommodate their large party.

As Roxas Skyes is led out of the capital, he sinks into a corner of the wagon and does not get up.


	23. Chapter 22

Axel is sitting on the cushioned patio chair set out on the balcony of Roxas' room, a book in his one hand while the other repeatedly strokes Artemis's soft head, his fingers rubbing her velvet soft ears. The sun is just setting over the skyline of Lesalia in Ivalice, turning the sky a rich orange and yellow blaze.

The poor dog has been so bored without Roxas, even when Sora takes her out every morning to throw a stick across the endless green fields of the mansion, she simply comes back and forth turning her head towards the back door waiting for Roxas to come out. And when they come inside, she either sits or lies in front of the stairs, staring at the door.

There was even this odd, peculiar night when she was sitting out on the balcony, Axel asleep in Roxas' bed, and Axel awoke to her howling. At first, he just stared at her, bewildered. Artemis wasn't much of a howling dog, she's a hunter, and there was no full moon out, just a blanket of shining stars. Axel had to quickly get her inside, but she then started to paw at the glass door. It wasn't until Axel had pulled out one of Roxas' tunics and sprawled it along the bed did she finally calm down. She hopped up onto the bed and turned in a few circles around the tunic, as if afraid to touch it, and then finally laid down with her head on the shirt. He started to wonder if the poor thing had separation anxiety.

Now, she seemed relatively quiet apart from her occasional lifting of her head, ears erect and whining slightly. Axel would just pet her reassuringly, assuming she had heard some commotion in the marketplace.

Gods, it's been nearly two months and two days and six hours and counting now. The one month it took for Roxas, Vanitas and Riku just to get to Knave's Bay, and the second month just for them to come back. They had to have been back by now, all that it takes is them coming back to the mansion. Axel himself was starting to get a little worried about the three assassins, and would go to Reno to see if he had gotten letters from them, but they stopped coming after Roxas had sent them a letter saying that they had arrived safely in Knave's Bay.

The only silver lining is that Axel at least found enough things to do with Reno. The two brothers would sit for hours out on the back porch with bottles of ale and cigars in hand. Axel wasn't much of a smoker, at least not since he had gotten together with Roxas, but the occasional light was good. The brothers would talk and drink and smoke until the sun had set. It felt good to be with family again.

And with Sora, apart from helping out in the kitchen, the boy has gotten tremendously better at his training, nearly beating Axel three times in their sparring matches; and goodness, the boy did not hold back.

Axel still has a bruise on his calf of where Sora's wooden training stick whacked him.

He can't wait for Roxas to be home. No doubt he'll be a sight; probably covered in bruises and dried blood, his hair tousled messily, but all tied with a devious smile on his face. Sexy.

Reno had ordered them to stop the slave trade, but Axel just knew Roxas would take it one step further. For someone to partake in a trade of people, treating them like property . . . thank gods Axel nor Reno never got so desperate.

A cool breeze kicks up, sending forward the scent of dew-drop lilies and wild petunias. A distant clopping calls his attention and Axel turns his head towards the brick walls of the city. There are a few caravans as usual, setting up shop just outside the city to greet travelers, a couple of farmers and their mules pulling wagons of hay and sacks and barrels. But there's something about this clip-clopping of hooves that's different. Lowering his book, Axel leans out and finds what appears to be a prison wagon being escorted up the road, or at least to the fork in the road before the path winds and twists its way up to the main gates.

With his spectacles, Axel can see there are guards as usual, but this time, it's a peculiar amount, dressed in Valendia's royal colors. Odd. Usually they only include guards for certain criminals; wonder who –

Suddenly Artemis lets out a loud bark, causing Axel to nearly drop his book over the edge of the balcony, and spill his cup of tea on to the pages instead. "Aww, dammit Artemis!" Axel curses.

But the dog isn't listening, she simply keeps barking, more profound and urgent. She hop up on her hind legs, draping her front legs over the railing of the balcony. Her barking intensifies.

Irritated and saddened by his ruined book and tea, Axel takes Artemis by the collar and ushers her inside. She still barks, and even resists.

"Come on, Artemis, inside." Axel says. The dog soon submits and whines as she's led inside, and Axel shutting the balcony doors behind him.

As he tries to fan out the pages of his book to keep them from permeating any others, he looks back at the prison wagon, already a small dot in the rolling foothills above Lesalia. Sighing, Axel takes the pile of napkins he was smart enough to bring with him and begins to mop up the spilt tea.

Artemis has since stopped her barking, and she now lies against the inside of the door. Once Axel has dumped most of the spilt tea into the trash, he simply dumps the remains into a potted plant hanging in the corner.

Finally he steps inside, Artemis with her tail wagging, but still whining a little bit. "What the matter, girl?" Axel asks as he pets her head.

Axel sets the teacup and saucer on Roxas' end table and goes to wash his hands. His thoughts go back to Roxas finally being back in Lesalia. Or, at least he had to be back by now, it's been two months, and the extra days are probably just for them resting and shopping in the city.

As he leaves the bathroom, there's a knock on the door. Axel hurries over, still drying his hands when he opens the door to reveal Xigbar. He seems slightly out of breathe, implying he might've ran up here. "They're back." he says.

And that's all Axel needs before he leaps through the threshold and shutting the door behind him. As Axel hurries down the hall, he hears Xigbar calling behind him, and for some reason, Axel's stomach tightens as he could recall Xigbar with a worried look on his face. Perhaps he was just imagining it. But Xigbar continues to call to him, keeping up with Axle's pace, but Axel doesn't allow him the time to explain as he hops no the wooden railing of the stairs and slides his way down.

Hopping off the turnout, Axel can already see the men gathered in the formal living beyond the two grand staircases in the foyer. First person he sees is Sora, but his eeys scan the crowd for any signs of blonde.

Nothing.

Axel swallows as he reduces to a quickened walk. All heads turn, and Axel can see Reno sitting on the couch, his arm resting on the armrest, his cheek against his knuckles. Luxord next to him. Sora stands around the two assassins with Zack and Zexion. Xigbar has caught up to him, but doesn't pass him.

Axel finds Riku and Vanitas and . . .

Gods. They look like they've lost a fight with a cave bear, or at least Vanitas does. He has bruises along his jawline and his left cheek. Riku has a scar on his forehead, and despite how clean his face is, his clothes a still powdered with a grey dust, and the two reek of sea and stone and wood.

But Axel is more disturbed by the troubled loo on their faces. Still no sign of Roxas. Is he passed out somewhere, patching himself up? He just wants to see those beautiful blue eyes.

Sora looks just as worried and concerned, so Axel goes over to boy as he says, "What's going on?" Axel doesn't protest when Sora wraps his hands around Axel's arm.

Vanitas shakes his head, Riku glances down.

"Where's Roxas?"

Vanitas looks at the redhead. Just from the pained look in his eyes, Axel then had the feeling of what Vanitas was going to say before he even spoke the words.

"I'm sorry, Axel."

Sora's eyes well with tears.

Vanitas' throat bobbles as he swallows, and as he starts to explain. "Once the Pirate Lord figured out our plan, Roxas sent Riku ahead to bring down Mencetto. When we got surrounded by the pirates, Roxas forced me to go ahead to find Riku. I didn't want to, but I thought he could handle himself. But at the end of it," Vanitas' voice hitches to just above a whisper. "Roxas had been captured by the royal guards. I didn't . . . I didn't think there was anything I could do. And on the way back, Riku and I had heard that his trial has already happened, and . . ."

No. No anything but this . . .

"Roxas is being sent out to the Gollund Mines."

His voice sounds muffled, like Axel has submerged himself underwater. The details of the faces and of the room have become difficult to see, the world smearing together into dull colors.

Despite the sudden nausea in his stomach, all Axel can do is stand still – he feels like if he just stand still, he can stop it from being true, he can pretend that everything is all right.

A roaring silence hovers around him, a cresting wave that he's been trying to wave away for hours. Axel knew that the moment the silence finally hits him, everything will change.

Sora haunches over, unable to support his own grief, and Riku embraces him. Zack and Luxord and Xigbar fold their lips in, closing their eyes as tears stream down their cheeks. Reno just keeps his head low.

And all Axel is doing is standing still.

 _Roxas_ . . . _he's_ . . .

The silence strikes.

* * *

Axel can hear the words:

 _I hear you calling from some, lost and distant shore._

 _I hear you crying softly for the way it was before._

 _Where are you now?_

 _Are you lost?_

 _Will I find you again?_

 _Are you alone?_

 _Are you afraid?_

 _Are you searching for me?_

 _Why did you go, I had to stay._

 _Now I'm reaching for you._

 _Will you wait, will you wait?_

 _Will I see you again_?

(- Hymn for the Missing, Red -)

* * *

In the grand council room of King Mickey's castle in Kingdom Hearts, the king, and the Guild Masters Xemnas, Leon and Cid and Seifer's One and Two. They sit at the king's large, mahogany council table, in the shape of a pointed U. the white tile reflects the light of the giant crystal chandelier that hangs overhead.

Cloud has been pacing back and forth in front of the grand fireplace where a silver and red fire blooms and crackles. His long red cape, a cape that the king himself had made for the Guild Master, whispers against the floor along with the clicking of his leather black boots.

They had received word of Roxas and his success in freeing the salves from Vanitas about a week ago; and if calculations served right, it was around the time he and Riku were on their way back to Ivalice from Knave's Bay. Word of Roxas' capture hadn't spread as wide and as fast as anyone had expected, and they had sent out Terra to recover the information.

Cloud's pacing is making everyone more nervous than they are. No one spoke a word, no one really dared talk about anything else thinking it would seem insulting. Cloud has a gloved hand over his chin, his eyes vacant as if he is already thinking of ways he can get back his son.

Guards stand at the ready with their weapons. The king nervously taps the table with his fingers, his wife and her personal advisor Daisy wait beside a thick white pillar near an alcove.

Finally, one of the two grand sized doors to the council room opens and in steps Terra. Cloud immediately stops his pacing and all heads turn in his direction. He wears his delicately ornate silver armor, another gift from the king when he had become Captain of the Guard along with Goofy.

Behind him, the king can see his long-time friend and his trusted court wizard Donald. Their faces are grave, and Donald is fidgeting with his hands.

"Terra . . ." Cloud breathes as he makes his way over to the newly crowned Captain of the Guard. But as the man approaches, the Captain steps back. Cloud immediately halts.

Terra shakes his head.

Cloud's face becomes pale, with a deadly calm. "What happened?" he says roughly.

Terra swallows. His lips part. "He's being sent out to Gollund."

There's a collective inhale of breath. Even the Seifers are surprised and pale with horror.

"His wagon left the city yesterday."

Cloud looks to him and Terra can see a false flicker of hope in the Master's eyes. "We can stop them."

"Cloud –" Leon starts.

"We can get to the continent and we can go after the wagon. We can have him free in a matter of minutes –!"

"Cloud!" Terra barks, and the Guild Master is Silent. "It will take us weeks just to sail to the continent alone. By then it will be too late."

The Guild Master takes uneven breaths, and then whirls to face the king. "Can't you do anything?" Cloud holds out his hand and starts to walk about to king's side of the table. "Send a letter to the King or his advisor?"

"I'm afraid I can't." King Mickey says, his eyes thick with tears and his voice hitching. "I can't send out a letter to them without it becoming a possible political affair. It's like I'd be telling them how to run their government system. I can't do that all for just one prisoner."

"But that prisoner is my son!" Cloud yells as he slams his one hand on the table. The guards grow stiff.

" _I'm sorry_ , Cloud." King Mickey says, his tears spilling over his cheeks. "I have no influence there. I cannot do _anything_." His lip quivers. "I'm sorry."

Cloud's body starts moving, waling straight towards the fireplace before he really knew what he is going to do.

The guards are starting to raise their weapons and even Cid, Leon and Terra are reaching for the hilts of their swords.

Cloud didn't cry when his son had abandoned his dark empire, he didn't cry at his ex-wife's false funeral, he didn't cry when he was trapped down in those accursed dungeons of his ex-wife.

Cloud reaches the mantel and grabs the clock from where is rests.

"Cloud." Terra breathes.

Cloud hurls the clock across the room so hard it shatters against the wall behind the dining table.

The fragments of the clock land atop the buffet table against the wall, breaking the decorative dishes displayed there, scattering the silver tea set the Queen had bought for the King on their anniversary.

Cloud doesn't bother leaving the council room, he knew he wouldn't make it to his room.

The King of Assassins barely makes it two steps away from the fireplace when he sinks to his knees, and the sobs it.

* * *

When he first sprang up from that crate aboard the ship, all Axel registered was a black blob. He had taken down two men already, and with those bloody daggers and long black cloak, Axel had thought him to be Death itself. He shot the boy in the shoulder, but instead of killing him, it merely brought him to his knee.

And then he stood before Axel, tall and muscular and embellished in all ways remarkable.

His eyes were so stern, so insistent.

Beautiful.

Now, surrounded by the warmth of Roxas' room, Axel has found those same clothes, at the bottom of Roxas' top drawer of his dresser, entombed between normal tunics and pants.

In the room with him, Riku and Sora as sitting on the bed, Sora still huddled into Riku, his cheeks and nose red. Riku keeps his cheek pressed to the spikey-brunette's hair, kissing his forehead and rubbing his back softly.

Reno is sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, of which he turned outwards to face the group and Artemis is at his feet, her head on her paws, and even her face looks wounded and sorrow. And then there's Vanitas, leaning against the wall, his arms folded and his head down, his eyes vacant as they have been once he delivered the news to everyone. Axel can see him in the reflection of the mirror. Both assassins still haven't changed their clothes.

Axel had walked away some time after, he doesn't remember how, the world is still burred into colors. The next thing he knew he was back in Roxas' room standing over Roxas' dresser, the balcony doors still thrown open from when he was reading. Axel didn't know what to do, he just needed to do something, because since he was standing still, if he sat down . . .

Axel just started rummaging through the drawers, trying to make room since there was a fresh basket of clean laundry set aside by the dresser. He didn't care. He needed to do something. But that is when he had found Roxas old uniform. He didn't even know Roxas had brought it with him. And its usage is displayed proudly with every odd stitching he found, with every kink in the leather armor, the rips in the sleeves and even small droplets of blood that couldn't be washed out.

Bringing the shirt to his nose, Axel inhaled slowly. Gods . . . it still smelled like him. And in a flash, he can see all of those moments Roxas had worn this black uniform; what he had done, what he represented, how he looked so deadly and lethal and beautiful, and how he had changed.

Axel drops the hands to rest atop the drawer, and finally he feels his cheeks grow warm as the tears fall. It doesn't feel right.

He takes a deep breath, it rattles on its way in. "It's not true." He whimpers.

All heads lift and look to Axel. His eyes are shut and tears fall, his shoulders hunching from the oncoming sorrow. The silence in the room is deafening, and he expects at any moment for Roxas to come barging through that door, stained with proof that he had escaped and done away with those guards. And then Axel would kiss him, so hard and so passionate, and then he will never let Roxas out of his sight. Please.

"It's not true." Axel repeats, but even as he speaks the words, they hold little truth and meaning.

Axel looks up into the mirror, at himself and his already reddening face. He sighs, or rather exhales with a sob as he shakes his head. And then Vanitas lifts his head and look at Axel in the mirror.

The numbness snaps.

Snaps with such a violent crack that Axel is surprised they didn't hear it.

And in its place is a screaming, high-pitched and kneeing, loud as a teakettle, loud as a storm wind, loud as the sound Roxas had emitted when he had been injected with a serum forcing him into his Elven form.

Axel shatters completely, and whirls striding to Vanitas. " _You did this_! _This is your fault_!"

Vanitas lifts his head only a heartbeat before Axel strikes him. Vanitas topples to the ground, banging his head on one of the glass coffee tables, splitting open a gash on his forehead. Reno is already up from his seat, his arm draped across Axel's chest to hold him.

Vanitas struggles to raise himself to his hands and knees. The world is focusing in and out, colors morph and dot together. Axel had hit him hard enough to send him reeling. The corner of his mouth is bleeding, dripping from where Vanitas had bit it and his nose is streaming too. Sora is as pale as death, scared stiff, but Riku holds him close, cooing to the boy as he watches the pirate and the assassin.

" _You were supposed to protect him_!"

"Axel, stop it!" Reno barks.

Axel can't hear anything over that silent screaming, his breath coming fast, too fast. He screams something at Reno to let go of him, but he can't even understand himself even as he tries to pry himself away from his brother. " _Say it, say you hate him_! _Say it_!" Axel roars at Vanitas, panting through grit teeth, his breathing coming quicker and quicker.

Vanitas just stays crumpled on the floor, the corner of his mouth bleeding. His eyes welt with water and he slowly shakes his head. He tries to speak, but it's barely above audible. "I don't –"

" _LIAR_!" Axel bellows the word with such bone-deep hatred that Vanitas feels it like a dagger to the heart. Axel surges again, but Reno hold shim firm, forbidding his brother from advancing further. Axel screams in retaliation, the howl laced with a word, but it's too wild to decipher. Artemis whines and cowers under Roxas' bed.

Then, the two brothers stumble back and hit the wall, both sliding down to the floor. Reno manages to catch himself in a crouch, but Axel just completely falls, as if he's given up. Still, Reno doesn't let him go. Vanitas wobbly pushes himself to his feet, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

Axel's sobs fill the room, and Reno strokes his brother's hair as Axel leans his head against his chest, sobbing. Reno places his lips on Axel's head, like he used to when they were kids. He wraps his other arm around Axel and kisses his forehead, resting his cheek against Axel's hair. He offers cooing whispers even though he knew they would never reach Axel.

Curling himself smaller into Reno's arms, Axel sobs, and sobs, and sobs.

Reno looks up to Vanitas, who is now standing in his same spot, blood already drying on his face, and fresh blood dribbling out. Vanitas is taking deep breaths, his eyes gleaming. His eyes show exhaustion, hatred, and sorrow. Reno understands, and simply returns his attention to his sobbing, broken brother.

Through his muffled cries and the wails, one word comes through: " _Why_?"

Why?

Why?

 _Why_?


	24. Chapter 23

The wagon has been escorted along its route for four days now.

He watches the light shift and dance on the walls. He only moved from the corner long enough to relieve himself or to pick at the food the guards had thrown in for him.

He had believed he could love Axel and not pay the price. _Everything has a price_ , he had once been told by his father. How right he was.

Sun shines through the wagon again, filling it with weak light. The trek to the Mineral Mines of Gollund takes a week from the Lesalia Capital City, and each miles brings them farther and farther south – and into colder weather.

When he dozes off, falling in and out of dreams and reality and sometimes not knowing the difference, he is often awoken by the shivers that rack his body. The guards offer him no protection against the chill.

A week in this dark, reeking wagon, with only the shadows and light on the wall for company, and the silence hovering around him. A simple week, and then Gollund.

He lifts his head from the wall.

The growing fear sets the silence flickering.

No one survives Gollund. Most prisoners don't survive a month. It is a death camp.

A tremor goes down Roxas' numb fingers. He draws his legs in tighter to his chest, resting his head against them. In the silence he can hear the echoes: _You are nothing more than a coward_.

The shadows and the light continue to play on the wall.

Roxas Skyes knew he is nearing the Mineral Mines when, one weeks later, the trees of Araguay gives way to gray, rough terrain, and jagged mountains pierce the sky. He's been lying on the floor since dusk and has already vomited once. And now he can't bring himself to stand up.

Sounds in the distance – shouting and the faint crack of a whip

Gollund

He isn't ready.

The light turns brighter as they leave the trees behind. He is glad Axel isn't here to see him like this.

Roxas lets out a sob so violent he has to press his fist to his mouth to keep it from being heard.

He is never ready for this, for Gollund and the world without Axel.

A breeze fills the wagon, lifting away the smells of the past week. His trembling hands pause for a heartbeat. He knew that breeze.

He knew the chill bite beneath it, knew it carries the hint of pine and snow, know the mountains from which it hails. A northern breeze, a breeze of Twilight Town.

He _must_ stand up.

Pine and snow and lazy, golden summers – a city of light and music in the shadow of the Terrace Mountains. He must stand, or be broken before he even entered Gollund.

The wagon slows, wheels bouncing over the rough path.

Excited whispers, the crunch of rushing feet on dried grass, moonlight shining through the window.

Roxas doesn't know how he got upright, or how he made it to the tiny barred window, his legs stiff and aching and wobbly from disuse.

The guards are gathered near the edge of the clearing they've passed, staring out into the tangle of trees. They've exited Araguay Woods sometime in the day, and now it will be nothing but mountains and mountains and mountains.

The moon illuminates the mist swirling along the leaf-strewn ground, and makes the trees cast long shadows like luring wraiths.

And there – standing in a copse of thorns – is a white stag.

Roxas' breath hitches.

He clenches the bars of the small window as the creature looks at them. His towering antlers seem to glow in the moonlight, crowning him in wreaths of ivory.

"Gods, above," one of the guards whispers.

The stag's enormous head turns slightly – towards the wagon, towards the small window.

The Lord of the North.

 _So the people of Valendia will always know how to find their way home_ , Roxas had once read in a book on the continent of Ivalice and its history. _So they can look up at the sky, no matter where they are, and know Valendia is forever with them_.

And yet none of that mattered to him now. The only thing he recollects is his dream. His dream of the green forest and the white stag that had been Ventus.

Ventus had always been a white stag in his dreams.

Tendrils of hot air puff out from the stag's snout, curling in the chill night. It might have been the moonlight, but Roxas could have sworn he sees the faint outline of the boy he had loved so dearly. The same outline he had seen when Zexion had opened a portal to another world back in the glass castle of Traverse Town, golden and bright and illuminated.

 _Do not let that light go out_.

Roxas bows his head, though he keeps his eyes upon him.

 _So the people of Valendia will always know how to find their way home_ . . .

A crack in the silence – spreading wider and wider as the stag's fathomless eyes stay steady on Roxas.

A glimmer of a world long since destroyed – a kingdom in ruins. The stag shouldn't be here – not so deep into Ivalice or so far from home. How had he survived the hunters who had been set loose nine year ago, when the Dark Lord had ordered all the sacred white stags of Valendia butchered?

And yet he is here, glowing like a beacon in the moonlight.

Ventus is here.

And so is Roxas.

Roxas feels the warmth of the tears before he realizes he is crying.

Then the unmistakable groan of bowstrings being pulled back.

The stag, his Lord of the North, his beacon, his friend, doesn't move.

" _Run_!" the hoarse scream erupts out of Roxas. It shatters the silence.

The stag remains staring at him.

Roxas bangs on the side of the wagon. " _Run, damn you_!"

The stag turns and sprints, a bolt of white light weaving through the trees.

The twang of bowstrings, the hiss of arrows – all missing their mark.

The guards curse, and the wagon shakes as one of them strikes it in frustration. Roxas back s away from the window, backs up, up, up, until he runs into the wall and collapses to his knees.

The wagon starts to move again.

A whip snaps. Somewhere, someone starts screaming. From the shift in the light, he knew they are nearing what had to be a giant wall.

He is going to Gollund – he is to be a slave in the Mineral Mines of Gollund.

"My name is Roxas Skyes . . ." he whispers onto the floor, but his lips shake hard enough to cut off the words.

A whip snaps.

"My name is Roxas Skyes . . . ," he tries again. He gasps down uneven breaths.

The breeze grows into a wind, and Roxas closes his eyes, letting it sweep away the ashes of that dead world – of that dead boy. And then there is nothing left expect something new, something still glowing red from the forging.

Roxas opens his eyes. He can see the light glint off of the solid gold band that encases his ring finger. He turns to the window and looks squarely at the mammoth stone wall origins up ahead of them.

He braces his palms on the floor and readies his feet, but they slide out from beneath him. He falls to the wagon floor. Tears fall from his face and he hitches a breath. His hands and feet continue to slip from his severe shaking.

He has not stopped breathing yet, and he had endured Ventus' death and evaded the king's execution. He can tuck Ventus into his heart, tuck them all away: Axel, Sora, Riku, Cloud, Demyx, Lexaeus; bright lights for him to take out whenever things are darkest. And then he will remember how it had felt to be loved, when the world had held nothing but possibility.

And yet . . . how can he survive _this_?

He can't crumble, but not even he can believe himself now.

Still, someday . . . someday, even if it takes him until his last breath, he will find Vanitas; and make him pay for what he had done.

Roxas feels his tears as the wagon enters the shade of the tunnel through the wall. Whips and screams and the clank of chains. Roxas tenses, already taking in every detail he can. His fingers shake as he fiddles with the gold band.

The silence is gone. In its absence, he can feel the barking pain echo through his legs, and the ache of the injuries Vanitas had given him, and the dull stinging of wrists and ankles rubbed raw by chains. And he can feel the endless whole where Ventus had once been.

The wagon clears the wall and stops.

Roxas raises his head.

The wagon door is unlocked and thrown open, flooding the space with gray light.

Fear, ravenous and cold, drags him under.

 **~End of Part One~**


	25. After

The mines of Gollund are stifling, and the slave girl can only imagine how much worse they will become when the summer sun is overhead.

Carefully, she peers her head over to the one slave boy as he hacks away at the rocks. Gods, even with the grime and dirt and sweat, he is just as gorgeous as the first day he had arrived.

His hair, though greasy, holds a golden sheen to it. It falls flatly over his eyes, giving him an air of mystery. Even with the scarce meals they get here in the mines, his arms – _goodness_ – his arms are thick with muscle, along with his legs, and undoubtedly his abs – if she ever got lucky enough to see them. His thick column of a neck bears a necklace of a small sack that hangs just over his heart, and she notices a thin gold band around his ring finger he had managed to sneak past and keep away from the guards. His face is sharp and sculpted, his eyes an unearthly bright blue, ringed with gold.

He keeps quiet, and to himself, which is fine; the guards don't want any socializing between prisoners. They're lucky enough the guards tolerate their singing while working.

And gods, he can work. She'll never forget after his first month here, when a guard had ordered him to dig a chunk of stone out from a dangerously unstable location of the mine, they had all laughed when he looked at the spot and then looked back. They had promised him an early day off if he could do it.

Of course, they didn't think he could. Until –

The slave girl, as well as the other slaves of the shaft watched in awe as the boy had effortlessly climbed up the stone with nothing but his bare hands and feet, his pickax between his teeth. He climbed up high, and then higher, and then higher still until he was well past the point of where the guards wanted. He then picked away at the stone like it was nothing, dangling one foot over the edge of a ninety foot shaft until he picked out the stone the guards had wanted.

When he climbed down, the boy didn't mock, didn't boast, he didn't even smile. He simply handed the guards their piece of rock with a face as blank and as . . . bored as if they had asked him to fetch a fork from the kitchen drawer.

Without waiting to be dismissed – the guards too dazed – the boy went back to work in his normal area. He didn't even get his day off.

He has been in the mines for six months – longer than anyone else had ever survived, he's been told.

Her mother, grandmother, and little brother did not last a single month. Her father hadn't even made it to the mines before Kerwon's butchers had cut him down, along with the other know rebels in their village. Everyone else had been rounded up here.

As she hears the heavy footsteps of her sentry approach, the girl turns her head back to her work.

The boy had arrived alone, and for five and a half months now; alone, yet surrounded by thousands. He can't remember the last time he's seen the sky, or the grasslands of Ivalice undulating in the cool breeze.

It didn't matter though, not like he is ever going to see them again. He gave up hope the moment he had been dragged from his prison wagon. At least in here he didn't have any connection to the outside world. Though he misses the fresh air and open spaces, he does not miss, however, the problems and politics and power struggles that had buzzed around his head whenever he was free to walk the streets.

And yet . . . something keeps him going. He still holds out, he keeps drawing breath even though his life has no meaning anymore. He doesn't think he'll ever make it out. He'll never be able to bury his dead, nor endure the mourning months until they are over and return to life.

And what was he supposed to do if he _did_ make it out anyway? Of course, he never lets himself think that far, but it's a question that he contemplates when he lies awake on nights he is supposed to have been sleeping.

 _What am I to do_? Join the rebels?

As he swings his pickax at the unforgiving stone, he thinks of what he would do if he accomplished even that. With every Kerwonean life he took, he would say the names of his dead again, so that they would hear him in the afterlife and know they were not forgotten.

The slave boy swings his pickax again, breaking apart a large stone. The slaves around him flinch.

He'll never make it out.

His breathing is ragged in his parched throat. The overseer lounges against a nearby wall, sloshing water in his canteen, waiting for the moment when one of them will collapse, just so he can unfurl that whip of his.

He keeps his head down, keeps working, keeps breathing.

Gods damn this man with his whip and water. Gods damn this whole mine, this continent and its king, and this world!

He doesn't know how much time passes, but he feels the ripple go through the mines like a shudder in the earth. A ripple of stillness, followed by sighs of relief.

He feels it coming, swelling up towards him, closer and closer with each turn head and murmured words.

And then he hear it – the words that changed everything.

 _King Sephiroth has defeated one of Tifa Lockheart's forces. Ambushed them and captured their Kerwonean soldiers_.

The words are past him before he has time to swallow them.

There is a scrape of leather against rock. The overseer will tolerate the pause for only a few seconds longer before he starts swinging.

 _King Sephiroth defeated_ one _of Tifa Lockheart's forces. King Sephiroth is fighting for the freedom of his people_.

He stares down at the pickax in his hands.

 _King Sephiroth this_. _King Sephiroth that_.

All this soft cheering and silent tears of joy for this man, and he couldn't even spare his time to come and visit _his_ trial. When really it was his capture and sentence that was the talk of the month.

The blond-haired slave boy turns, slowly, to look into the face of his overseer, the face of Valendia. He cocks his wrist, pronged whip ready.

 _You are nothing more than a coward. When will you say enough_? _What will make you stop running and face what is before you_?

The boy feels his tears before he realizes they are falling, sliding through six months' worth of filth.

 _Enough_. The word screams through him, so loudly he begins to shake.

Silently, he begins to recite the names of his dead.

" _Enough_." The boy says hoarsely.

And as the overseer raises his whip, he adds his name to the end of that list and swings his ax into the man's gut.


	26. Part Two: Rise of the Phoenix King

In the gleaming continent of Kingdom Hearts, centered in the kingdom of Twilight Town, Cloud Skyes sits in the council room of the towering castle. He leans back in his chair, adjusting the folds of the long red cape clasped to his shoulders and crosses his legs, the leather of his knee-high black boots squeaking against one another.

The council of men gathered at the long table – including himself and the other, former, Guild Masters – are King Mickey's most trusted companions.

This meeting is just one of the many that the former King of Assassins has planned throughout the day. Ever since the former King of Assassins and Guild Master had decided to aid the king in cleansing the city of the grudge between the thieves' guilds and power allegiance known as The Bastion, his size and title and trust with the king has won him allies on the king's council and keep others from challenging him. He is the king's most trusted advisor.

The Bastion had once been the long-time rival of the Guilds, and Cloud had even thoroughly planned to have his son murder the king and take up the throne. But through a series of events caused by his son: falling in love with a pirate, his self-exile of the Guild, battling the crazed power-driven witch that was his mother, and sailing off into an entirely new continent, Cloud has since decided to change his ways as well.

Only now, the life of a councilmen is rather . . . dull. Apart from his spacious suite in the castle, that has now been declared his permanent stay, all he does is sit at the table and listen to men argue and bicker. Given his previous title of Master, whatever he said went and that was the end of the meeting.

Seated across from him is his own Second in Command, Captain of the King's Guard and former leader of the Wolf Guild, Terra; and seated next to him, Leon – former master of the Lion's Guild. From there, only three more Guild Masters are present, others such as Larxene and her Spiders were hunted down and executed.

Cid, former Master of the Sharks, sits towards the end, dressed handsomely in a pale blue jacket. Then it is Xemnas, former leader of the Hawk Guild, set in a white suit with detailed ornate designs along the sleeves, and then there's Seifer dressed in a simple classy tunic and a black jacket. He would have been the leader of the Serpant's Guild, but his father had managed to claim the title until his passing of a month ago. Grief was thick, but the honor of rising to take his father's place at the king's council was more than enough for the boy.

The King of Kingdom Hearts, Mickey, sits at the head of the table. Most would be shocked, amused or baffled if the world had learned that an entire continent was under the rule of a mouse, but Kingdom Hearts is home to many species, and this is the least of the weirder ones. Besides, he shows great intelligence and skill and abilities that have kept Kingdom Hearts free of war – or at least with outside forces. Around his waist sits his legendary blade, the Kingdom Key D. Its blade is made of solid gold and the hilt silver. Even with its doubting beauty, the sword has kinks and dents and scratches that tell tales of fierce battles.

Cloud Skyes watches the Guild Masters as well as a couple other of the king's most trusted men discuss events with papers scattered in front of them, small cups of water and tea and a large plate of bread and biscuits situated at the center of the table. Cid leans back in his chair sipping his water.

As the king taps his papers into order, he glances over at Cloud, as he has been stealing glances at the man since the meeting had started. His golden hair shining in the light of the glass chandelier, the king watches as Cloud's eyes grow distant as they have for the fifth time now in this meeting alone.

But the king doesn't feel angry, nor does he feel insulted. He knows what it is the King of Assassins is thinking about.

The man just hasn't been the same since his son and heir, Roxas Skyes, had been imprisoned in the Gollund Mineral Mines of Ivalice. Even with moment between grins and laughter, a shadow passes across the man's face. It isn't an expression of anger or of disgust, but a shade that clouds his eyes. It is so saddening. His eyes become dark and his face clears, as if he sees everything in the world for what it is and finds no joy or amusement in it.

While the king wishes he could meet the Guild Master on common terms, he can't. His beloved Queen Minnie and he never wanted to have children, at least not while the war with the Guilds was going on. He so desperately wishes to comfort the man who has now become his most trusted advisor, but he doesn't know now.

"I suggest we advance our forces towards the West Burgross Ocean, near Rhana Strait. From there we can take both the Romanda Isles along with the Fovoham coast." Cid suggests.

"You must be aware, Cid, that the Lord of Fovoham could see that as an advancement on our part to join the King of Kerwon and attack him." Terra informs. "According to reports, Kerwonean soldiers have been camping near the village, a movement from the coast is risky."

"Well what about Romanda? They have their best to remain out of the war." Leon chimes. "I doubt they'd be willing to pick a side so suddenly."

"They have a powerful Navy, a benefit for whoever side they choose," says Xemnas. "but I say we don't force ourselves. We let them pick."

"That's just folly!" Seifer chimes.

The king's gaze returns to Cloud, and there it is – for a moment.

Cloud's eyes fall upon the mahogany table and darkens, as if his pupils have extended to encompass all of each eye. Then it is gone – his eyes return to normal.

"Master Cloud, you've been awfully quiet. What is your recommendation?" Cid says, shifting all attention to the Guild Master.

Cloud lifts his head with a raise of eyebrows. "My apologies, Cid, could you repeat that?"

But before the former Shark Guild Master can, the king chimes. "Cloud, you seem rather pale. Would you like to step outside for a moment? Take a stroll? I understand it must be stuffy in this room."

Cloud looks to the king with a bewildered expression, as the ceilings of the council room are high and decorated with skylights to allow natural rays to brighten the room. But he understands just heartbeats later, and nods his head. "Yes, your majesty." Cloud rises from his seat. "Thank you, if you'll excuse me."

With that, the Guild Master rises from his seat and exits the room, his black boots clicking against the white marble floor, then muffling as he starts to walk along the plush red carpet of the hallway.

Not even needing to lift his head, Cloud navigates his way towards his chambers, passing by walking broomsticks carrying buckets of water. Once he makes it to his rooms, a large tower of the castle gazing out over the city, Cloud strips off most of his clothes, the blazing heat nearly suffocating him enough.

Cloud stands at the window of his tower bedroom, leaning out as far as he dares to catch just a breath of wind on his face. In the distance, the golden roofs of Twilight Town sizzle in the late summer sun, and beyond them, the foothills rolling towards the storm clouds gathering on the western horizon.

The rain would be a relief. It has been three weeks of stifling heat, two weeks without a whisper of wind off the Sunset Terrace, and the reek from the rotting city has now reached even the highest spires of the stone castle. The stench of baking filth is so bad that most of the king's court has left – either for the sea or for the north. Or both.

The heat makes the endless string of council meetings and state dinners unbearable, even when encircled by servants fanning them with palm fronds imported from the Destiny Isles. And if the miserable heat isn't enough, the topic of those meetings made the master assassin's temper fray.

He reaches for the pitcher of water wedged between two piles of books and pours himself a glass. He takes a long sip of his water. It is already warm.

He goes back to the open window to study Twilight Town, as if he can see every person and creature winding through the city.

He thinks back to how the King had never been allowed to roam Twilight Town on his own, and the last time the King had a night out had been twenty years ago. The party at the riverfront estate remains the most lavish the king had ever seen, and the second Captain of the Guard, Goofy had nearly lost his position when they learned – when the Queen learned – who had actually been at the party.

Wealthy rebels from the kingdom of Hollow Bastion, courtesans from the finest brothel in Agrabah. And mixed in with them all had been thieves, mercenaries, and assassins.

Not just any assassins, Cloud chuckles, but Cloud himself, and his cabal of notorious killers. The king had unwittingly danced and drank with them all, and the captain, who had been told the estate belonged to the visiting emissary from Hollow's Eve, had let the king remain there for hours. No one had known who either of them were, thanks to masks they'd donned at another party earlier that night, but . . . Even now, the king can't suppress a chill at the thought of whom he might have been dancing with, whom he might have clinked glasses with . . .

Cloud was proud of himself that night in more ways than one. Apart from himself having a grand time, the look on the king's face when he found out the truth, it was sight to remember.

For a heartbeat, Cloud could have sworn he felt a cool northern wind on his face, faintly scented with pine and snow. He leans his head out the window, trying to catch some more of it, but only the relentless, beating sunshine greets him. He loosed a sigh and again studies the city.

Wiping the sweat from his brow on the back of his hand, the prince shoves up the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows. Roxas had hated the summer as well; mostly because Cloud would always force him to wear that too-dark clothing, cloak and mask to hide his identity from the townspeople. He would often come home cranky and irritable as he wiped off his mask and cloak, drenched in sweat and soaking through his fine clothes.

Gods, Roxas. His beautiful, powerful, strong, ambitious son.

How he missed him so.

It has been a year – and _entire year_ – since his son, an infamous assassin, had been captured, tried, and sentenced to a lifetime of labor in the Mineral Mines of Gollund. Ivalice's Captain of the Gaurd had been in the seaside town of the Deist Isles when it happened, and though he'd raced back to Valendia, by the time he had returned Roxas was gone. The guards who had watched him had all been reassigned to border outposts, and King Sephiroth's advisor had sealed each and every document regarding Roxas' capture. Or anything about him. Even the papers had little information, save for a list of victims and his punishment. Cloud was positive they didn't even know how old Roxas is.

Cloud instantly feels a harsh pain in his chest, and his eyes well with tears as they do every moment he thinks of his son in that death camp.

When they had heard the news of Roxas' capture from Vanitas, Roxas most trusted friend and kill-for-hire, Cloud had raged to the king to try and set him free. But the king reluctantly denied over and over in fear of a political affair with the growing war of Kerwon and their alleged alliance with his ex-wife and leader of the Faceless Tifa Lockheart.

No matter how many times Cloud had politely brought it up in meetings, wishing to discuss the matter, the King merely gave a frustrated sigh and dismissed the matter. More than once had Cloud wished to impale his dagger into the King's throat, but true, with Tifa's army growing and corrupting with Kerwon, the fate of Kingdom Heart's effected Roxas too.

But Cloud would be damned if he let his son rot in that place, just in the continent alone, away from the land and the kingdom he had grown up in and in his own way, loved so much. But to be sentenced for life in a foreign land with no connection whatsoever . . .

Cloud claps his hand over his mouth as he begins to sob. He rests against the railing of his balcony and chokes back the sobs. He had poured over every last contact he had at his disposal to try and have them rescue, or break free or trial Roxas to get him out of that mine, but no one had stepped up to take the risk.

What Cloud is more upset about is King Sephiroth's lack of audience with his son when he had been captured. Cloud thought the king would have jumped at the chance to see Roxas in person, but they say he was away and out of state, helping out with the rebel forces against Kerwon.

Cloud had tried to contact Axel, Vanitas, Riku, Zexion, but even when they replied, they had so little detail to discuss. Despite his disappointment, Cloud understands. Roxas was special to everyone, each in their own way. Cloud chuckles. How his son has such an impact on everyone, even when he doesn't know it.

Cloud can still see the shine in Roxas' golden hair as it sways in the breeze, still see the light in his eyes as he dances in the meadow of green, light that was fueled with hope and determination and pride. He thinks back to every detail he can remember about Roxas, small and big, Guild related or just among family: Roxas balancing along a long that had fallen across the river, Roxas beating Riku in a sparring match for the first time, Roxas' little hands pulling back a full-sized bow and aiming the arrow too high, resulting in Xigbar needing surgery for his tender bum. Even the dreams that Cloud ad while he was still trying to hunt Roxas after his self-exile from the Guild.

He would read books to the boy, stroke his head and coo to him softly until he fell asleep, he would show Roxas the proper way to defend himself and how to pick a perfect weapon suitable for you.

The only glimpse of hope that Cloud had gotten was when they were having yet another meeting about nine months ago, and Daisy had come in saying that there was a woman in the grand foyer wishing to speak with Leon.

When asked who she was, nearly everyone had dropped everything when she had said: Rinoa Heartilly.

Leon was the first one out of the room and springing down the hallways and the staircases towards the foyer. And there she was, a beautiful young woman with ivory toned skin and absolutely dark-black hair that was unbound, and sharp, stunning gleaming-grey eyes full of pride and intelligence. She wore an ecru white dress with long sleeves and gold embroidery and a woven leather belt circling her narrow hips.

She was seated on a couch until Leon entered the room, practically barging through the doors loud enough to startle the poor girl from her seat. And when their eyes met, it was as if the world had stopped.

Rinoa simply stared at Leon with her hands folded, trembling as Leon carefully approached her, his gate similar as if he was stalking a target on the street. Cloud and the others had filed into the room to watch, and in the silence, as Leon reached out his large, callus hand to cradle the woman's cheek, Cloud remembered the story.

They had met in Hollow Bastion, Leon's hometown before he moved to Twilight Town, and it was instant love at first sight, he had claimed. She was visiting in from Fovoham, her mother taking her on a trip to the market to gather herbs that could only be found in Kingdom Hearts. Leon was fifteen at the time, and Rinoa a year younger than him.

Every day was spent with the two of them meeting in the marketplace, each exchanging tales, skills, traits, family stories. And then when the Dark Lord Xehanort had sent out his troops to slaughter all of those who had possessed magic, Leon had said the last time he had seen Rinoa was when her town house had been set on fire. He assumed the worst.

With his own mother bloodily beheaded, his father's innards spilt onto the cobblestones of the streets, Leon was left with nothing. Then he joined Cloud's Guilds, working his way up to Master and earning endless amounts of coin.

After another moment of silence, the Guild Master of the Lions broke down in tears as he embraced his long lost love. Wrapping his arms around her and kissing her so passionately that the awkwardness had thickened within a matter of seconds. Still, everyone let the two lovers have their moment.

Rinoa had apparently been living in Bervenia, working as a barmaid at a disgusting inn in the lower recesses of Bervenia. Cloud knows that town, he had set out on a mission once while Roxas was a toddler. The whole entire town itself smelt like the rear end of a boar; and was filled with cutthroats and lowlives of all races.

Once she had enough coin, she left and didn't look back. She's been studying at the Nelveska Temple for Healers ever since. She was on her spring break at the time she came to visit the castle. Once she had gotten word that Leon was now working for the king, she pretty much packed her things and set out.

When asked how she had gained enough of her coin, once they had seated her in the grand dining room and offered her food, she had said that she had encountered Roxas one night in Bervenia. It must've been when Roxas and Riku were set out to do more investigating of the slave trade.

Cloud had to control his composure once the girl had mentioned his son's name. Not only because of the tens of eyes that set on him the moment Roxas' name was mentioned, but because he for surely would've hammered the girl for details to the point of scaring her off. But what he heard, it was beautiful, and made him realize just how much of a man his son really had become.

After teaching Rinoa how to defend herself and fighting off brutes and mercenaries, Roxas had given Rinoa his ruby and gold brooch that Cloud had given him for his sixteenth birthday, as well as an enormous sized coin bag with enough gold to send her to the Nelveska Temple and back, and still have enough to travel to even Fovoham.

Rinoa kept expressing her gratitude for Roxas, completely unaware that her savior is now slaving over in the mines of a death camp. She didn't ask for him though, and Cloud is glad, he didn't wish to deliver the news and break another heart. Cloud had left shortly after while Leon and Rinoa were catching up.

Now, here he is standing out on the balcony of his spacious suite, in the castle of the King while his son rots away in a cramped space of a slave mine, where death could claim him at any second.

Cloud had the discussion with Terra multiple times in the private of Cloud's room. And each time, Terra was more than a little degrading. They have fought before – many times.

But this time, something interesting came up.

"He has been in Cidhna Mine for a year, your majesty. I doubt he's much to look at. In fact, he's probably dead." Terra had said.

 _He's probably dead_. Gods save him.

"And if he's capable of work."

Cloud grimaced. After a year in a place like Gollund, it'll be a miracle if Roxas still breathed. He hasn't even considered the damage to his son's body. "I'm sure a few months of good food and exercise will help him recover."

"That won't mean anything if he's broken in other ways."

"You mean if she's still sane." Terra looked up to Cloud, and Cloud clapped his hand over his mouth as he began to choke on a sob once again.

It would've ended in another argument, had the captain not spoken so calmly, so clearly. And then he looked around the room before getting up from his seat on the couch and walked over to Cloud close enough to whisper. "I've made a few . . . inquiries over the past year. To Gollund. They all have gone unanswered." A flicker of anger – and concern – in his eyes.

"If the king's advisor has all the documents about Roxas' capture and trial locked away, then he probably gave an order for all inquiries about Roxas to be ignored."

"The questions is why, though."

The King of Assassins shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe whoever – _whatever_ – he is threatens him. Or undermines the advisor in some way."

Before they could discuss it further, Terra was called down to the barracks. And then Cloud was left along once again. He didn't sleep well that night.

Cloud glances again to the window, to the land beyond the city.

There is one last attempt that Cloud hasn't done, something he was hoping to avoid, but after whispering those words to Roxas just before he cast off to sail to Ivalice, he doesn't see the harm in holding it back any further.

King Sephiroth is the only one with the power to approve Roxas' release at this point. And While had tried his best to leave himself out of this, it would seem that their destiny has been set in motion.

How angry Roxas will be when he returns . . .

No, his decisions is made.

The King of Assassins turns away from the window and walks towards his desk. Taking his seat, he pulls out the nicest piece of parchment and dips the glass pen in the ink and begins writing.

 _My dear King Sephiroth_ , he begins. _I have a request for you involving my son, Roxas_ . . .


	27. Chapter 1 (Part Two)

**~This is an edited version of the first chapter. After receiving an email from a reader, I decided to reedit the chapter and give credit to the amazing author Sarah J. Mass and her incredible epic-fantasy series _Throne of Glass_. **

**My series _A Pirate's Treasured Thief_ was heavily inspired by all of the books in her series and it gave so many ideas and possibilities. I have chapters such as this one that is plagiarism, and with help, they will be edited as well. My deepest apologies for not doing this beforehand, but all credit and several scenes and chapters of my story go to Sarah J. Mass and her series _Throne of Glass_. If more than one chapter is edited, there will be an icon at the top.**

 **So now I present to you, the newly edited version of _Chapter One for Rise of the Shadow King_.~**

* * *

 **~EDITED~**

 **~Part Two: Rise of the Shadow King~**

He has grown accustomed to sounds and smells of the mine: the sound of the metal hitting the stone, the cracks of an iron-tipped whip sounding loudly in the narrow shafts, the screams of those the whipped had cleaved into, the smell of blood both raw and mixed with dirt and dust of stone. The Mineral Mines of Gollund, the home of blood and stone.

As he swings his pickaxe into another chunk of stone, Roxas Skyes cringes slightly as the handle rubs against the swollen callus of his hand. The thin shoes don't do anything to help his feet either. They're not even shoes, they're simple pieces of leftover fabric that he had wrapped around his feet to try and give some form of padding. And to cover the rattlesnake bite on the heel of his right foot. And he wrapped up the left because he callus was peeling, exposing a nuisance of a blister.

He had noticed the snake just before he gave his next swing. It blended in well with the stone. Its body had overlapping scales that made small black diamonds intermingling with the main red sandstone color. Its head having a few crowded plates over the snout. Its eyes were thin like a cat's, but it wasn't rattling. It simply stared at Roxas, still as if it were a statue, the same way Roxas would look at _his_ prey when _he_ was a forced to be reckoned with. They stared at one another, sizing each other up. The footsteps of his overseer approached and he shouted to the slaves to keep working, and Roxas knew he was staring at him.

Roxas didn't listen.

Instead, he was gazing at his chance. His once chance. The man shouted at him again, his shadow growing larger as he approached Roxas. Roxas took a step towards the snake, and he extended out his foot. Then it started to rattle. The overseer and a few slaves jumped back, squealing in fear. Roxas slowly kept advancing his foot towards its head. One slave girl cried for him to stop, but she was too late. Roxas never broke eye contact with the snake, until he felt the harsh pinch of the fangs and the extreme burning as he could feel the venom bleed into his foot. And then darkness. Sweet, blissful darkness.

When he had awoken, his foot immediately started to throb. He hisses in pain and a gentle has was upon his head. A soft shushing from a female, a cold rag on his forehead, the feeling of dirt beneath his hands. He couldn't move his arms or his legs; at least not smoothly. They flop across his body like clubs, and more gentle hands were keeping his arms down.

When Roxas had dared opened his eyes there were a group of Galtea prisoners around him. As they patted his forehead and fed him food, all within the dark hours of the night, one woman spoke to him in Galtea. "You will be alright." Shew as a pretty young thing – about Roxas' age with long chestnut colored hair, and her face smattered with freckles beneath her layers of dirt.

Roxas replied in the language, his voice was low and raspy from misuse. How long had he been out? "I don't know whether to thank you, or kill you."

His Galtea wasn't that good at the time, and his pronunciation was horrid. But she understood it enough as her shoulders slacked and she gave a slight shake of her head.

Truth be told, he was hoping no one would care. He expects the guards just dumped his body outside of the shafts, and those prisoners dragged him back to their little shafts that held their beds.

"When you were bitten," the woman continues in Galtea. "after you screamed, you changed, only for a manner of seconds." Roxas cringes, trying not to snarl. "Your ears, they stretched and . . . pointed –"

"Enough." Roxas demands. And the woman didn't bring it up anymore.

Roxas never did say thank her that night. And he never got the chance.

A short time after, a cart with the dead body of a woman in it passed the group of slaves as they were heading to mine at dawn to begin work. The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue was slowly dripping with blood, her throat slit open ear to ear; and the sunken eyes . . .

It was a Galtea woman with long chestnut hair.

He believes it was her; he _hopes_ it was her. For then her troubles would be over. Oh, if the men were more merciful, they would shoot the slaves before they came to such misery.

Some days, he wonder if they would have been better off dying on the butchering blocks instead. And if he might have been better off dying that night he'd been betrayed and captured, too.

As the cart passed, Roxas said a little prayer for the Galtea woman and wished her well.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Roxas frowns as he sees the smears of dirt gathered over the one year of being stuck in this mine. No doubt his forehead is smeared too, not that it matters, he hasn't been in front of a mirror in . . . what feels like forever.

What a shame to see the state of who was Kingdom hearts most feared and notorious assassin! He was feared! Respected! Maybe even worshiped by other criminals. And how he's been reduced to nothing more than a simple salve among prisoners of war.

Over to his right, the whip cracks loudly, and Roxas' head twitches as he haunches into himself. He can still feel the burn of the scars that trail down his back. They look more like the claw marks of some animal, starting from the top of his right shoulder and trailing down across down to his waistline. He'll never forget the feeling of the whip slashing into his skin, spraying blood on the back of his neck and on the jagged rocks on the ground that scraped into his knees.

He swings his axe again and the rock shatters. As he brushes the rocks aside with his foot, the chains around his ankles rattling, he suddenly pauses when he thinks he sees the rocks starting to . . . rattle. He can't watch for long, as he hears the heavy footsteps of his overseer coming towards him. Quickly he raises his pickax and swings again at the unforgiving wall of stone. The steps walk past him.

As he has been for the past year that he has been down here, his mind wanders off as he begins to dig deeper. It helps take his mind off of the pain and agony around him. He can drift off to somewhere that isn't here. He doesn't daydream about distant lands and green fields with normal townsfolk who wave to him happily as they fetch water from a well.

It would only darken his spirit more.

In the light of the lanterns, he sees the glint of gold on his ring finger. The mere sight of it almost makes him start to cry. He chokes on his sob as he tries to make it blur with more swinging. He hasn't allowed himself to even think about what – and who – he had left behind back in Ivalice. But he can still see his face as clear as day.

The long, red spikes pushed back, the reverse teardrops tattoos under his eyes, the emerald color of those eyes that could take Roxas away from anything. Those soft, pink lips what were so tender . . .

Roxas shakes his head to destroy the image and loosening some dirt that had fallen in.

What would Axel think of him now? Gods – just thinking of his name and Roxas eyes swell. He can't blink them away before they slide down his cheeks.

Roxas has wasted way into nothing, like a beautiful rose slowly dying. His hair has lost its golden sheen, reduced to a worn-out yellow, with ill kept wounds, and his rib bones that shine plainly through. His knees have knuckles over, and are very unsteady. There is a hopeless look in his now dull eyes, the same as every other salve in the mine; making him one of their own.

His once toned arms and broad muscles are thin and lank, and fallen in. several blisters that haven't healed are now swelled; some joints are grown out of shape from hard work.

When the day finally ended, Roxas was more than eager to get to his little hay pile with minimal pelts. He turns in his pickaxe and waits in line with the others as the overseers chained shackles to their wrists.

But immediately, Roxas notices that his shackles are separate from that of the lie of slaves he normally walks with. He looks up to his overseer who approaches Roxas with his hand on his sword. "Walk." He commands. And Roxas obeys.

He's pulled out of line, the eyes of the other slaves watching him as his normal five guards guide him to the entrance to the shaft. When Roxas steps over the wooden beam dug into the ground, his heart skips a beat.

Standing outside, with an extra six more guards, is a man dressed entirely of black.

For the tiniest of a second, it sparks a little hope in Roxas, but when the man turns his head, his features shadowed by the hood, he approaches the assassin with a scowl. Even if it was someone from his old Guild, they would've registered surprise and shock at Roxas' state, even if they didn't show relief or happiness. His face is blank, and for it, Roxas gives him credit. Behind him, horses and even more guards wait in the light of dusk. Were they the ones who caused the stones to shake?

He immediately grabs for Roxas' arm, and despite his urge to jerk away, the last thing he needs it to be beheaded on the spot. The guards are always extra careful around Roxas after he had nearly escaped one day.

After six months of being in the mines, Roxas had snapped and slaughtered nearly everyone – guard and prisoner alike – as he made a trek to the wall where sentries tried to shoot at him with arrows. Roxas was knocked out a record's span from the wall.

"Roxas Skyes," the hooded man says. "I am Captain of the Valendian Guard. I need you to come with me."

Suddenly, the sky looms, the mountains pushed from behind, and even the earth swelled to Roxas' knees. He hadn't felt fear in a while – hadn't _let_ himself taste fear. When he awoke every morning, he repeated the same words: _Not today_. The words that his former mentor, Lexaeus, had taught him when sword fighting. The words that Roxas now holds dear to his heart after the death of his mentor, by torture and beheading.

For a year, those words had meant the difference between breaking and bending; they had kept Roxas from shattering in the darkness of the mines. Not that he'd let the captain know any of that.

So Roxas lets the man take his arm and lead him away from the mine shafts, past the small wooden buildings where they normally sleep, and towards the white marble building that houses the guards' barracks and the officials of Gollund Mines.

From what Roxas can gather, the man is rather fit; the armor making him more muscular. He could easily past for a Guild member with his dark clothes and ebony cloak. As they walk towards the buildings, the guards swarming around their front, back and sides, Roxas can see flashes of a sword as the cape flows back and forth. It's a deadly weapon despite its gleaming silver pommel carved in the shape of a lion.

They enter the building, and Roxas turns his focus on making sure his dirt covered feet don't slide and slip on the floor. Thankfully, the main hall that they're in has a runner carpet, easing his worry. They stride down corridors, up flights of stairs, and around and around until Roxas hasn't the slightest chance of finding him way out again.

Or that's what Roxas' escort is trying to do. But Roxas can easily recognize the one wall with a chip in it, a staircase with the same third step that groans heavily underweight, a hallway with one simple chandelier hanging overhead. As if he would lose his bearings to easily. It is flattering, Roxas supposes, even if he doesn't know what is happening, or why he'd been waiting for the assassin outside the mine shaft.

Roxas almost feels self-conscious when he realizes that the black leather of the Captain's gloved hand was almost as dark as Roxas' dirt covered skin. He's no doubt extremely pale beneath the dirt. The assassin shrugs his shoulders, attempting to get his stiff, filthy tunic to settle properly.

They finally enter the hallway, and it's completely still. Their footsteps are the only sound, but Roxas can feel as if the white tiles, to the stifling air, to the stones in the ground are holding their breath.

Roxas is tempted to say something to the captain, but he doesn't know what. And truthfully, he doesn't think it'll even be worth it. It's like he is back in Lesalia, lying on the roof of Reno's mansion with a handful bottles of wine sitting in wait under the terra cotta tiles. He has lost his motivation to do anything other than swing his pickaxe into stone. He has reentered that depressive state that he had tried so hard to dig himself out of. And now it's like he's fallen right back down.

They enter a hallway hanging with iron chandeliers. Outside the windows lining the wall, night has fallen; lanterns kindle so bright they offer few shadows to hide in. The tiles makes everything too loudly for him to attack anyone without alerting the entire mine. And he's probably too thin and weak to do anything. Even if his arms can lift a pickax, would they still be as quick and lethal as he was when he was still the Son of a Master Assassin? Gods, those days feel so long ago.

He still remembers walking the carpeted halls of his father's mansion in Twilight Town. His black clothing making him no more than a moving sliver of darkness. He would blend in with every shadow, others would bow to him as he passed, and citizens would cower at the sight of him. He was the best.

But he has other things to think about as they continue their walk. Is he finally to be hanged? Sickness coils in Roxas' stomach. He is important enough to warrant an execution from the Captain of the Royal Guard himself. But why bring Roxas inside this building first?

Finally, they stop in front of twenty-foot doors that are thick with more marble. They're outlined with gold details that look like vines and tendrils curling and twisting. The handles looking like oversized leaves.

The captain's grip tightens until it hurts. He yanks Roxas closer, but Roxas' feet seem made of lead and the Captain pulls against him. "You'd rather stay in the mines?" he asks, sounding faintly amused.

"Maybe if you bothered telling what you're doing I wouldn't be so determined to resist."

"You'll find out soon enough." Roxas' palms become sweaty. Yes, he is going to die. It has come at last.

The captain jerks his chin to the two guards and they nod and move to open the doors. Roxas cringes as they pull open, and the doors groan, the edges shrieking against the floor and making a high-pitched cry. Compared to the bleakness outside those windows, the opulence feels like a slap to the face. A reminder of how much they profit from his labor.

There's nothing but thick columns on either side of the room, a high ceiling where a single glass chandelier hangs with flickers of fire from the flames.

Roxas swallows, but his throat constricts and he gives a small cough. The gold royal emblem embroidered on the breast of black uniforms. These are members of the Royal Family's personal guard: ruthless, lighting-swift soldiers trained from birth to protect and kill. His knees quake.

Suddenly it feels as if his head is filled with helium and yet set with stones all at once. Roxas faces the room on an ornate cherry wood throne sits a beautiful Elven man. The assassin's heart stops as everyone bows.

He is standing in front of the King of Valendia.

"Your Highness." says the Captain of the Guard. He straightens from a low bow and removes his hood.

Once the hood falls around the man's shoulders, the world stops.

Quiet.

Everything around him stands really still and really quiet.

The air around him has seemed to compress, to grow denser. He can't explain it, but it feels as though the night itself, unnatural in its calmness, has begun to move in on him, to close in tight.

Roxas blinks, and blinks, and blinks again.

No, he thinks. It can't be . . .

And yet –

The blonde hair that overlaps on his forehead. His skin is as golden has his hair. Peeking out behind some strands, Roxas can see his ears with a simple black earlobe piercing. The tattoo continues over his shoulders and across his chest, disappearing into the collar of his tunic.

But Roxas can still see the ink gliding under his collarbone and delicately curving just at the top of his ribcage, several swoops coil down his biceps.

And those eyes, those incredible eyes – strikingly blue, the color of the waters of the southern countries.

Roxas hasn't seen those eyes since he had battled against his mother, and when she tried to kill Roxas, he jumped in and held her off while Vanitas and Roxas ran off towards the docks.

And those were the last thing he had seen, and that charming smile.

The presence of the king means nothing. Nothing – worthless and nothing – compared to this.

It is the greatest thing Roxas has since in a long, long time.

"Maleek."


	28. Chapter 2 (Part Two)

The hood had definitely been meant to intimidate Roxas into submission during their walk. As if that sort of trick could work on him.

Still, it takes all of his self-control not to lunge at Maleek, seizing him and crying, laughing, yelling or kissing. But with the King of Valendia before him, Roxas can't do anything without risking arrows in his neck. And Maleek knows this too, as Roxas can see him trying to hold back his sympathy, his jubilance, and his sorrow.

Maleek is . . . alive. This whole time he was alive, and _Captain of King Sephiroth's Royal Guard_! Was he really the betrayer of the Faceless and not Roxas? Roxas vaguely remembers Maleek telling him about how there's a traitor among them.

So many memories

"This is him?" the King of Valendia asks, and Roxas' head whips around as the captain nods. Both of them stare at Roxas, waiting for him to bow. When he remains upright, Maleek shifts on his feet, and the king glances at his captain before lifting his chin a bit higher.

Bow to him indeed! If he is bound for the gallows, he will most certainly not spend the last moments of his life in groveling submission.

Thundering steps issued behind him, and someone grabs Roxas by the neck. He only glimpses crimson cheeks and a sandy mustache before being thrown to the icy marble floor. Pain slams through his face, light splintering his vision. His arms ache as his bound hands keep Roxas joints from properly aligning. Though he tries to stop them, tears of pain well.

" _That_ is the proper way to greet your king." A red-faced man snaps at Roxas.

The assassin hisses, baring his teeth as he twists his head to look at the kneeling bastard. He is almost as large as Roxas' overseer, clothed in greens and blacks that match his thinning hair. His obsidian eyes glitter as his grip tightens on Roxas' neck. If Roxas could move his right arm just a few inches, he can throw him off balance and grab his sword . . . The shackles dig into Roxas' stomach, and fizzing, boiling rage turns Roxas' face scarlet.

After a too-long moment, the king speaks. "I don't quite comprehend why you'd force someone to bow when the purpose of the gesture it to display allegiance and respect." His words are coated with glorious boredom.

Roxas tries to pivot a free eye to the prince, but he can only see a pair of black leather boots against the white marble floor.

"It's clear that you respect me, Duke Remington, but it's a bit unnecessary to put such effort into forcing _Roxas Skyes_ to have the same opinion. You and I know very well he has no love for my family. So perhaps your intent is to humiliate him." he pauses, and Roxas could've sworn his eyes fell to his face. "But I think he's had enough of that." he stops for another moment, then asks: "Don't you have a meeting with Gollund's treasurer? I wouldn't want you to be late, especially when you came all this way to meet with him."

Understanding the dismissal, Roxas' tormentor grunts and releases him. Roxas peels his cheek from the marble but lies on the floor until the duke stands and leaves. If Roxas manages to escape, perhaps he'll hunt down this Duke Remington fellow and return the warmth of his greeting.

As Roxas rises, he frowns at the imprint of grit he left behind on the otherwise spotless floor, at the clank of his shackles echoing through the silent room. But he's been trained to be an assassin since his since the age of eight, since the day his father, the King of the Assassins had brought him into this world and trained him to be a living weapon. Rixas won't be humiliated by anything, least of all being dirty. Gathering his pride, Roxas tosses his long braid behind his shoulder and lifts his head. His eyes meet those of the King.

Sephiroth Gainsborough smiles at Roxas. It is a polished smile, and reeks of court-trained charm. Sprawled across the throne, he has his chin propped by a hand, his golden crown glinting in the soft light. On the folds of his dark green cloak, an emblazoned ebony rendering of the royal tendrils occupy the entirety of the cape. It then falls gracefully around him and his throne.

This is the first time he has actually seen the king in person and . . . and . . . He is achingly handsome, and beautiful beyond reckoning and can't have been older than twenty. Yet there is something in his eyes, strikingly blue – a crystal, sparkling blue – and the way they contrast with his silver hair that makes Roxas pause. His hair falls around his youthful place like a river of moonlight and his skin is white as alabaster. And his ears . . . they are strongly pointed and poke through his silver curtain of hair. His Elven heritage.

 _Kings are not supposed to be this beautiful! They're sniveling, stupid, repulsive creatures! This one . . . this . . . How unfair for him to be royal and beautiful_.

Roxas shifts on his feet as the king frowns, surveying him in turn. "I thought I asked you to clean him." he says to Maleek – Captain Maleek – who steps forward. Roxas had forgotten there is anyone else in the room. Roxas looks at his rags and stained skin, and he can't suppress the twinge of shame. What a miserable state for a boy of former beauty!

At a passing glance, one might think his eyes blue or grey, perhaps even green, depending on the color of his clothes. Up close, though, these warring hues are offset set by the brilliant ring of gold around his pupils. But it's her golden hair that catches the attention of most, hair that still maintains a glimmer of its glory.

His hair was as short as the average boy, but since his arrival to Gollund, it has at least grown out to pass his shoulders and stop just between his shoulder blades.

What he wouldn't give for a haircut, as the hair is incredibly irksome as it keeps falling over his shoulder and trapping heat on his neck. Now it hangs in a brad down his back.

In short, Roxas Skyes is blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensate for the majority of average ones. And when he shifts into his Elven form, his average features can easily outmatch even the extraordinary assists.

But now, standing here before Sephiroth Gainsborough as little more than a gutter rat! His face warms as Maleek speaks. "I didn't want to keep you waiting."

The King of Valendia shakes his head when Maleek reaches for Roxas. "Don't bother with the bath just yet. I can see his potential." The king straightens, keeping his attention on Roxas. "I don't believe we've even had the pleasure of an introduction. But, as you probably know I'm Sephiroth Gainsborough, King of Valendia, perhaps now King of most of Ivalice."

Roxas ignores the surge and crash of bitter emotions that awake with the name.

"And you're the Roxas Skyes, Twilight Town's greatest assassin. Perhaps the greatest assassin in all of Kingdom Hearts." he studies Roxas' tense body before he raises his dark, well-groomed brows. "You seem a little older." He rests his elbows on his thighs. "I've heard some rather fascinating stories about you. How do you find Gollund after living in such excess in Twilight Town?"

 _Arrogant ass_.

"I couldn't be happier." Roxas croons as his jagged ails cut into his palms.

"After a year, you seem to be more or less alive. I wonder how that's possible when the average life expectancy in these mines is a month."

"Quite the mystery, I'm sure." Roxas bats his eyelashes and readjusts his shackles as if they are lace gloves.

King Sephiroth turns to his captain. "He has somewhat of a tongue, doesn't he? And he doesn't sound like a member of the rabble."

"I should hope not!" Roxas interjects.

"Your Highness." Maleek snaps at him.

"What?" Roxas asks.

"You will address him as 'Your Highness.'"

Roxas gives Maleek a mocking smile, and then returns his attention to the king.

Sephiroth Gainsborough, to Roxas' surprise, laughs. "You do know that you're now a slave, don't you? Has your sentence taught you nothing?"

Had Roxas' arms been unshackled, he would have crossed them. "I don't see how working in a mine can teach anything beyond how to use a pickax."

"And you never tried to escape?"

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Roxas' lips. "Once."

The king's brows rise, and he turns to Captain Maleek. "I wasn't told this."

Roxas glances over his shoulder at Maleek, who gives his king an apologetic look. "The Chief Overseer informed me this afternoon that there was one incident. Four months -"

"Six months." Roxas interrupts.

"Six months," Maleek says. "after Roxas arrived, he attempted to flee."

Roxas waits for the rest of the story, but he is clearly finished. "That's not even the best part!"

"There's a best part?" The king says, face caught between a wince and a smile.

Maleek glares at Roxas before speaking. "There's no hope of escaping from Gollund. Your advisor made sure that each of Gollund's sentries could shoot a squirrel from two hundred paces away. To attempt to flee would be suicide."

"But you're alive." The king says to Roxas.

Roxas' smile fades as the memory strikes him. "Yes."

"What happened?" Sephiroth asks.

Roxas' eyes turn cold and hard. "I snapped."

"That's all you have to offer as an explanation for what you did?" Maleek demands. "He killed his overseer and twenty-three sentries before they caught him. He was a finger's tip from the wall before the guards knocked him unconscious.

"So?" Sephiroth says.

Roxas seethes. "So? Do you know how far the wall is from the mines?" he gives Roxas a blank look. Roxas closes his eyes and sighs dramatically. "From my shaft, it is three hundred sixty-three feet. I had someone measure."

"So?" Sephiroth repeats.

" _Captain_ Maleek, how far do slaves make it from the mines when they try to escape?"

"Three feet," he mutters. "Gollund sentries usually shoot a man down before he's moved three feet."

King Sephiroth's silence is not Roxas' desired effect. "You knew it was suicide." he says at last, the amusement gone.

Perhaps it was a bad idea for Roxas to bring up the wall. "Yes." he says.

"But they didn't kill you."

"Your advisor ordered I was to be kept alive for as long as possible – to endure the misery that Gollund gives in abundance." A chill that has nothing to do with the temperature goes through the assassin. "I never intended to escape." The pity in the king's eyes makes Roxas want to hit him.

"Do you bear many scars?" asks the king. Roxas shrugs and the king smiles, forcing the mood to life as he steps from the dais. "Turn around, and let me view your back." Roxas frowns, but obeys as Sephiroth walks to him, Maleek stepping closer. "I can't make then out clearly through all this dirt." The king says, inspecting what skin shows through the scraps of Roxas' shirt. Roxas scowls, and scowls even more when he says. "And what a terrible stench, too!"

"When one doesn't have access to a bath and cologne, I suppose one cannot smell as finely as you, _Your Highness_."

The king clicks his tongue and circles Roxas slowly. Maleek – and all the guards – watch them with hands on their swords. As they should in less than a second, Roxas can get his arms over the king's head and have his shackles crushing his windpipe. It might be worth it just to see the expression on Maleek's face. All this time he was alive, and had lied about it! But the king goes on, oblivious to how dangerously close he stands from Roxas. Perhaps Roxas should be insulted. "From what I can see," he says. "there are three large scars – and perhaps some smaller ones. Not as awful as I expected, but . . . well , the jackets and suits can cover it, I suppose."

"Jackets?" he is standing so near that Roxas can see the fine thread detail on his jacket, and he smells, not cologne, but horses and iron.

Sephiroth grins. "What remarkable eyes you have! And how angry you are!"

Coming within strangling distance of The King of Valendia, the highest hierarchy of the man who sentenced Roxas to a slow, miserable death, Roxas' self-control balances on a fragile edge – dancing along a cliff.

"I demand to know," Roxas begins, but Maleek pulls him back from the king with spine-snapping force. "I wasn't going to kill him, you buffoon."

"Watch your mouth before I throw you back in the mines," the sapphire-eyed captain says.

"Oh, I don't think you'd do that."

"And why is that?" Maleek replies.

Sephiroth strides back his throne and sits back down, his crystal eyes bright.

Roxas looks from Maleek to the king and squares his shoulders. "Because there's something you want from me, something you want badly enough to come here yourselves. I'm not an idiot, though I was foolish enough to be captured, and I can see that this is some sort of secret business. Why else would you leave the capital and venture this far? You've been testing me all this time to see if I am physically and mentally sound. Well, I know what I'm still sane, and that I'm not broken, despite what the incident at the wall might suggest. So I demand to be told why you're here, and what services you wish of me, if I'm not destined for the gallows."

The two royals exchange glances. Sephiroth steeples his fingers. "I have a proposition for you."

Roxas' chest tightens. Never, not in his most fanciful dreams, had he imagined that the opportunity to speak with Sephiroth Gainsborough would arise. He can kill him so easily, tear that grin off his face . . . He can destroy the king as they had destroyed him . . .

But perhaps the king's proposition can lead to escape. If he gets beyond the wall, he can make it. Run and run and disappear into the mountains and live in solitude in the dark green of the wild, with a pin-needle carpet and a blanket of starts overhead. He can do it. He just needs to clear the wall. He has come so close before.

"I'm listening." is all Roxas says.

The king's eyes shine with amusement at Roxas' brashness but lingers a bit too long on his body. Roxas would've raked his nails down the king's face for staring at him like that, yet the fact that he even bothered to look when Roxas is in such a filth state . . . A slow smile spreads across Roxas' face.

The king crosses his long legs. "Leave us," he orders the guards. "Maleek, stay where you are."

Roxas steps closer as the guards shuffle out, shutting the door. Foolish, foolish move. But Maleek's face remains unreadable. Maleek couldn't honestly believe he can contain Roxas if he tried to escape! Roxas straightens his spine. What are they planning that would make them so irresponsible?

The king chuckles. "Don't you think it's risky to be so bold with me when your freedom is on the line?"

Of all the things he could have said, _that_ was what Roxas had least expected. "My freedom?" At the sound of the word, he sees a land of pine and snow, of sun-bleached cliffs and white-capped seas, and land where light is swallowed in the velvety green of bumps and hollows – a land that he has forgotten.

"Yes, your freedom. So, I highly suggest, _Mr._ Skyes, that you get your arrogance in check before you end up back in the mines." The king uncrosses his legs. "Though perhaps your attitude will be useful. I'm not going to pretend that my empire is built on trust and understanding. But you already know that." Roxas' fingers curl as he waits for the king to continue. His eyes meet Roxas', probing, intent. "I want to offer you a place in my Elven Coven of warriors, The Thirteen. Not just as a member, but as my Champion."

It takes a delicious moment for Roxas to understand.

Roxas tips his head back and laughs. "You want _me_ to join your coven? Isn't that term used for witches? What – don't tell me you managed to eliminate every noble soul out there! Surely there's _one_ chivalrous knight, one lord of steadfast heart and courage."

"Mind your mouth." Maleek warns from beside Roxas.

"What about you, hmm?" Roxas says, raising her brows at the captain. Oh, it is too funny! _Him_ – the King's Companion! "Our beloved King finds you lacking?"

The captain puts a hand on his sword. "If you'd be quiet, you'd hear the rest of what His Highness has to tell you."

Roxas faces the king. "Well?"

Sephiroth leans back in his throne. "I'll have you know that being a member of The Thirteen is the highest of honor, higher than Captain of the Guard. They do not have a reputation for mercy – or making mistakes."

"I'm well aware of their reputation. Often just the name of the coven is enough to send enemies fleeing."

Roxas remembers – faintly now, due to his time in the mines – that Reno had mentioned something about joining the King and his forces. He had to have been talking about The Thirteen. Despite them using the term "coven" often used to describe a gathering of witches, The Thirteen are actually a guild of Elven warriors, the King's most skilled, deadly, lethal and fearsome. Is he the one who had managed to grab the King's attention? It took him long enough. _An entire year_!

"Good. Then you understand the weight of my offer." The king says. "The Thirteen are my usual guards whenever I go to gatherings whether at my own home or away at another dignitary. They usually stay together, but I sometimes send them out to do . . . personal contracts. Usually to keep my opponents . . . quiet."

"As quiet as the grave." Roxas says sweetly.

A smile tugs on Sephiroth's lips, but he keeps his face straight. "Yes."

To work for the King of Valendia as his loyal servant. Roxas raises his chin. To kill for him – to be a fang in the mouth of the beast rules the largest continent in all of Ivalice . . . "And if I accept?"

"Then, after six years of service, I'll have grant you your freedom."

"Six years!" But the word "freedom" echoes through him once more.

"If you decline," Sephiroth says, anticipating Roxas' next question. "you'll remain in Gollund." His crystal eyes become hard, and Roxas swallows. _And die here_ is what he doesn't need to say.

Six years as the king's crooked dagger . . . or a lifetime in Gollund.

"However," the king says, "I have more to offer." Roxas keeps his face neutral as he toys with a ring on his finger. "I want you to become the leader of The Thirteen, as well as my Champion, but the titles are one of the same." Sephiroth says with a half smile. "The Thirteen are also my most skilled and unbeaten force of my army fighting against Kerwon. In accepting to join, you will have become a part of my army was well; and perhaps you'd _officially_ be Kingdom Heart's Assassin."

Roxas doesn't return his smile. "Who, exactly, does your Thirteen consist of?"

Seeing his expression King Sephiroth's grin fades. "Former thieves and assassins and warriors from across Ivalice." Roxas opens his mouth, but Sephiroth cuts him off. "If you prove yourself both skilled and trustworthy, I _swear_ to grant you your freedom. And, while you're my Champion, you'll receive a considerable salary."

Roxas barely heard the last few words. Joining his stupid coven is simple enough, but to involuntarily join the army, involuntarily be a part of the political affairs and troubles. To officially be a part of this war of fighting against Kerwon . . . "What other assassins?" Roxas demands.

"None that I've heard of. None as famous as _you_. But perhaps you might know them. And that reminds me – a warning, if you will. Only my men do know who you are, and what you have done."

"Alright, so?"

The king chuckles. "I don't suppose you heard about what happened after your trial."

"News is rather hard to come by when you're slaving in a mine."

He chuckles again, shaking his head. "No one in Ivalice knows that Roxas Skyes is just a young man – they all thought you were much older."

"I'm twenty years old now." Roxas says, his face flushing. "Everyone in Kingdom Heart's knew who I was. Even the Pirate Lord of Knave's Bay. How is that possible?" He should be proud that he had kept it hidden from most of the world, but . . .

"You were nineteen at the time."

"What does it matter?"

"You kept your identity a secret all the time you were running around killing everyone. After your trial, my advisor thought it would be . . . wise not to inform the rest of the Ivalice who you are. They want to keep it that way. What would our enemies say if they knew we had all been petrified of a boy?"

"So I'm slaving in this miserable place for a name and title that don't even belong to me? Who does everyone think Kingdom Heart's Assassin really is?"

"I don't know, nor do I particularly care. But I do know that you were the best, and that people still whisper when they mention your name." He fixes Roxas with a stare. "If you're willing to fight for me, to be my Champion during the months that will go on, I'll see to it that I free you after _five_ years."

Though he tries to conceal it, Roxas can see the tension in his body. He wants Roxas to say yes. Needs him to say yes so badly he is willing to bargain with the assassin. Roxas' eyes begin glittering. "What do you mean, ' _were_ the best'?"

"You've been in Gollund Mine for a year. Who knows what you're still capable of?"

"I'm still capable of quite a lot, thank you." Roxas says, picking at his jagged nails. He tries not to cringe at the dirt beneath them. When was the last time his hands had been clean?

"That remains to be seen." The king says. "You'll be told the details when we arrive in Valendia."

"Despite the amount of _fun_ you nobles have betting on us, this seems unnecessary. Why not just hire me already?"

"As I just said, you must prove yourself worthy."

Roxas puts a hand on his hip, and his chains rattle loudly through the room. "Well, I think being Kingdom Heart's Assassin exceeds any sort of proof you might need."

"Yes," Maleek says, his sapphire eyes flashing. "it proves that you're a criminal, and that we shouldn't immediately trust you with the king's private business."

"I give my solemn oa –"

"I doubt that the King would take the word of _Kingdom Heart's Assassin_ as bond."

"Yes, but I don't see why I have to go through the training. I mean, I'm bound to be a bit . . . out of shape, but . . . what else do you expect when I have to make do with rocks and pickaxes in this place?" he gives the Maleek a spiteful glance.

Sephiroth frowns. "So, you won't take the offer?"

"Of course I'm going to take the offer," Roxas snaps. His wrists chafe against his shackles badly enough that his eyes water. "I'll be your absurd Champion if you agree to free me in three years, not five."

"Four."

"Fine." Roxas says. "It's a bargain. I might be trading one form of slavery for another, but I'm not fool."

He can win back his freedom. _Freedom_. He feels the cold air of the wide-open world, the breeze that sweeps from the mountains and carries him away. He can live far from Ivalice, the capital that has once been his realm.

"Hopefully you're right." Sephiroth replies. "And hopefully, you'll live up to your reputation. I anticipate winning, and I won't be pleased if you make me look foolish."

"And what if I fail?"

The gleam vanishes from his eyes as he says. "You'll be sent back here, to serve out the remainder of your sentence."

Roxas' lovely visions explode like dust from a slammed book. "Then I might as well leap from the window. A year in this place has worn me through – imagine what will happen if I return. I'd be dead by my second year." he tosses his head. "Your offer seems fair enough."

"Fair enough indeed." Sephiroth says, and waves a hand at Maleek. "Take him to his rooms and clean him up." He fixes Roxas with a stare. "We depart for Valendia in the morning. Don't disappoint me, Skyes."

It is nonsense, of course. How difficult can it be to outshine, outsmart, and then obliterate the other men of the Thirteen? Roxas doesn't smile, for he knew that if he does, it will open his realm of hope that has long been closed. But still, he feels like seizing the king and dancing. He tries to think of music, tries to think of a celebratory tune, but can only recall a solitary line from the mournful bellowing of the Galtea work songs, deep and slow like honey pours from a jar. " _And go home at last_ . . ."

He doesn't notice when Captain Maleek leads him away, nor does he notice when they walk down hall after hall.

Yes, she will go – to Valendia, to anywhere, even through the Gates of Heaven and into Hell itself, if it means freedom.

 _After all, you aren't Kingdom Heart's Assassin for nothing_.


	29. Chapter 3 (Part Two)

Once he had been led to his rooms as the king ordered, Maleek dismissed the others guards. And despite their questionable looks, Maleek is Captain of the Guard. They have to listen to him.

And when they were alone, Maleek didn't remove Roxas' chains just yet, instead he turned to the blond and says. "Before you bite my head off, I just wanted to say, I'm sorry." Almost instantly his eyes welled with tears. "I'm so, so sorry."

His voice had cracked and his lip trembles, and Roxas almost wanted to strangle him with the chains, but he knew why. Roxas licks his dry lips, only to feel the poking of his fanged canines. Roxas didn't even realize he shifted. And he had felt his ears flatten back in sadness.

"Please know, that I don't expect you to forgive me so easily, but also understand that I had good reasons." Maleek continues.

Roxas looks up to the former Faceless assassin and immediately noticed the difference. His features were sharper, his eyes more angled. And his ears –

Maleek tucks his hair behind one of his pierced ears, revealing his small black gage earring, and peeking up from his wheat blonde hair are the markers of his Elven heritage.

That's right; Roxas remembers how Maleek had been tracing strange marks on the inside of his Faceless cloak and he was the one who had begged Roxas to get up when he was at the hands of death. That means he can shift like Roxas? Between his Elven and human form? Had he been the one to summon Lilian, the first Elven Queen to aid Roxas in battle?

It was while Maleek had been racing those markings did the Elven Queen come flying into battle, adorned in that gorgeous armor and exposing her heritage.

Still, the shock travels through Roxas, sinking into his skin.

Maleek was Elven.

Roxas breathes a sigh of astonishment. And Maleek looks to him, his face drooping to sorrow as he removes his hand from his ear, his curtain of hair falling back over his ear.

Roxas doesn't say anything as Maleek steps closer to Roxas, still chained and astonished. Roxas doesn't flinch as Maleek reaches out his hand and brings forward Roxas braid of his now long hair over his shoulder. Roxas shoulders droop. Gods, he wants a haircut.

He _hates_ long hair, at least on him. And now with the year in the mine, his hair has grown out to where the braid ends between his shoulder blades. Perhaps if he's allowed to get his hands on a pair of scissors, or even a knife, he can cut his hair himself. He's been doing it for himself for years.

Compared to when they last saw each other, Roxas was near unconsciousness from exhaustion and Maleek was nearly dead at his mother's hands.

And now . . . now alone Maleek has the full view of what Gollund Mine has done to Roxas. Still, despite the fact that he knew that the guards were still right outside the door, Roxas takes the one step it takes bring him chest to chest with Maleek and reaches his chained hands up over the captain's head. Maleek stiffens, but relaxes when Roxas rests his head against his chest and sighs. Twining his arms around Maleek, Roxas allows himself to nuzzle in deeper. Maleek's arm are around him heartbeats later, but they are lighter, stiffer as if he is afraid he will crush Roxas.

He probably could. Gollund Mine has withered Roxas away into nothing. And even with so many questions that flood his mind, Roxas has to pull away as he hears the knob turn.

He's already a safe distance from Maleek by the time the guard opens the door to inform Maleek that he is needed. Roxas acted like nothing had happened, and shifted back into his human form.

When Roxas finally collapses onto a bed after his meeting in the throne room, he can't fall asleep, despite the exhaustion in every inch of his body. After being roughly bathed by brutish servants, the wounds on his back throb and his face feels like it has been scrubbed to the bone. Shifting to lie on his side to ease the pain in his dressed and bound back, he runs his hand down the mattress, and blinks at the freeness of movement. Before he had gotten into the bath, Maleek had removed his shackles. He felt everything – the reverberations of the key turning in the lock of his irons, then again as they loosen and fell to the floor. He can still feel the ghost chains hovering just above his skin. Looking up at the ceiling, he rotates his raw burning joints and gives a sigh of contentment.

But it is too strange to lie on a mattress, to have silk cares his skin and a pillow cradle his cheek. He had forgotten what food other than soggy oats and hard bread tastes like, what a clean body and clothes can do to a person. Now it is utterly foreign.

Though his dinner hadn't been that wonderful. Not only was the roast chicken unimpressive, but after a few forkfuls, he dashed into the bathroom to deposit the contents of his stomach. He wants to eat, to put a hand on a swollen belly, to wish that he'll never eat a morsel and swear that he will never eat again. He will eat well in Valendia, won't he? And, more importantly, his stomach will adjust.

He has wasted away to nothing. Beneath her nightgown, his ribs reach out from inside of him, showing bones where flesh and meat should have been. And his arms! What once were thick with muscle are now thin as twigs. A lump clogs his throat, which he promptly swallows down. The softness of the mattress smothers him, and he shifts again, lying on his back, despite the pain it gives him.

His face hasn't been much better when he glimpsed it in the washroom mirror. It is haggard: his cheekbones are sharp, his jaw pronounced, and his eyes slightly, but ever so disturbingly, sunken in. Roxas takes steadying breaths, savoring the hope. He'll eat. A lot. And exercise. He can be healthy again. Imagining outrageous feasts and regaining his former glory, he finally falls asleep.

When Maleek comes to fetch him the next morning, he finds Roxas sleeping on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. "Roxas," he says. Roxas makes a mumbling noise, burying his face farther into the pillow. "Why are you sleeping on the ground?" Roxas opens an eye. Of course, the captain doesn't mention how different Roxas looks now that he is clean.

Roxas doesn't bother concealing himself with the blanket as he stands. The yards of fabric they call a nightgown covers him enough. "The bed was uncomfortable," he says simply, but quickly forgets the captain as he beholds the sunlight.

Pire, fresh, warm sunlight. Sunlight that he can bask in day after day if he gets his freedom, sunlight to drown out the endless dark of the mines. It leaks in through the heavy drapes, smearing itself across the room in thick lines. Gingerly, Roxas stretches out a hand.

His hand is pale, almost skeletal, but there is something about it, something beyond the bruises and cuts and scars, that seem beautiful and new in the morning light.

Roxas runs to the window and nearly rips the curtains from their hanging as he opens them to the gray mountains and bleakness of Gollund. The guard positioned beneath the window doesn't glance upward, and Roxas gapes at the bluish-grey sky, at the clouds slipping on their shoes and shuffling towards the horizon.

 _I will not be afraid_. For the first time in a while, the words fall true.

His lips peel into a smile. The captain raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

Roxas is cheerful – jubilant, really – and his mood improves when the servants coil beneath his braided hair onto the back of his head and dresses him in a surprisingly fine riding habit that conceal his miserably thin form. He loves clothes – loves the feeling of silk, of velvet, of satin, of suede and chiffon – and is fascinated by the grace of seams, the intricate perfection of an embossed surface. And when he becomes the leader of The Thirteen, when he is free . . . he can buy all the clothes he wants.

He laughs when Maleek, irked at how Roxas stands in front of the mirror for five minutes, admiring himself, half-dragged him out of the room. The budding sky makes Roxas want to dance and skip down the halls before they enter the main yard. However, he falters as he beholds the mounds of bone-colored rock at the far end of the compound, and the small figures going in and out of the many mouthlike holes cut into the mountains.

Work has already begun for the day, work that will continue without him when he leaves them all to this miserable fate. His stomach clenching, Roxas averts his eyes from the prisoners, keeping up with the captain as they head to a caravan of horses near the towering wall.

Yapping fills the air, and three black dogs sprint from the center of the caravan to greet them. They are each sleek as arrows – undoubtedly from the King's kennels. Roxas kneels on one knee, his bound wounds protesting as he cups their heads and strokes their smooth hair. They lick his fingers and face, their tails slashing the ground like whips.

Their blackness is such a contrast compared to Artemis's golden sheen of fur. Oh, Artemis. That gorgeous dog that had loved him unconditionally. A gift he had gotten from Vanitas –

 _Vanitas_.

Naturally a growl vibrates in the back of Roxas' throat. He won't give the dog away, _gods_ no, he would never. But when he gets his freedom, and when he has the King at his back to make guards look the other way . . .

A pair of ebony boots stop before Roxas, and the dogs immediately clam and sit. Roxas lifts his gaze to find the crystal eyes of the King Sephiroth Gainsborough studying his face. He smiles slightly. "You seem to have a natural liking to animals as they do to you." He says, scratching one of the dogs behind the ears. "Do you own your pet?"

Roxas nods his head as Maleek steps behind him, so close that his knees graze the folds of Roxas' forest-green velvet cape. It will take all of two movements to disarm him.

"Is it a dog?" asks the king. Roxas nods. Why is it already so hot? "Am I going to hearing your voice, or have you resolved to be silent for the duration of our journey?"

"I'm afraid your questions didn't merit a verbal response."

Sephiroth bows low. "Then I apologize, my good sir! How terrible it must be to condescend to answer! Next time, I'll try to think of something more stimulating to say." With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, his dogs trailing after him.

Roxas scowls as he stands. His frown deepens when he discovers Maleek smirking as they walk into the fray of the readying company. However, the unreadable urge to splatter someone across a wall lessens when they bring Roxas a piebald mare to ride.

He mounts. The sky comes closer, and is stretches forever above him, away and away to distant lands he's heard of. Roxas grips the saddle horn. He is truly leaving Gollund. All those hopeless months, those freezing nights . . . gone now. Roxas breathes in deeply. He knew – he just knew – that if he tries hard enough, he can fly from his saddle. That is, until he feels iron clamp around his arms.

It is Maleek, fastening Roxas bandaged wrists into shackles. A long chain leads to his horse, where it disappears beneath the saddlebags. Maleek mounts his black stallion, and Roxas considers leaping from his horse and using the chain to hang the captain from the nearest tree.

It is a rather large company, twenty all together. Behind two Imperial flag-bearing guards rides the king and Duke Perrington. Then comes a band of six royal guards, dull and bland as porridge. But still trained to protect him – from Roxas. Roxas clanks his chains against his saddle and flicks his eyes to Maleek. He doesn't react.

The sun rises higher. After one last inspection of their supplies, they leave. With most of the slaves working the mines, and only a few toiling inside the ramshackle refining sheds, the giant yard is almost deserted. The wall suddenly looms, and his blood throbs in his veins. The last time he had been this close to the wall . . .

The crack of the whip sounds, followed by a scream. Roxas looks over his shoulder, past the guards and the supplies wagon, to the near-empty yard. None of these slaves will ever leave here – even when they die. Each week, they dig new mass graves behind the refining shed. And each week, those graves fill up.

Roxas becomes all too aware of the three long scars down his back. Even if he wins his freedom . . . even if lives in peace in the countryside . . . those scars will always remind him of what he has endured. And that even if he is free, others are not.

Roxas faces forward, pushing those thoughts from her mind as they enter the passage through the wall. The interior is thick, almost smoky, and damp. The sounds of the horses echo like rolling thunder. The iron gates open, and he glimpses the wicked name of the mine before it splits in two and swing wide. Within a few heartbeats, the gates groan shut behind them. He is out.

He shifts his hands in their shackles, watching the chains sway and clank between him and the Maleek, Captain of the Guard. It is attached to Maleek's saddle, which is cinched around his horse, which, when they stop, can be subtly unbridled, just enough so that with a fierce tug from Roxas' end, the chain will rip the saddle off the beast, the captain will tumble to the ground, and Roxas would –

He senses Captain Maleek's attention. He stares at Roxas beneath lowered brows, his lips tightly pursed, and Roxas shrugs as he drops the chain.

As the morning wears on, the sky becomes a crisp blue with hardly a cloud. Taking the forest road, they swiftly pass from the mountainous wasteland of Gollund Mine and into the fairer country.

By midmorning they are within Araguay Forest, the wood that surrounds Zeltenia and serves as a continental divide between the countries of the east and the uncharted lands of the West. Legends are still told of the strange and deadly people who dwell there – the cruel and bloodthirsty descendants of the fallen Gallione Kingdom. Roxas had once met a young woman from that cursed land, and though she had turned out to be both cruel and bloodthirsty, she is was still a human. And had still bled like one.

After hours of silence, Roxas turns to Maleek. "Rumor has it that once the King of Kerwon is finished with his war against Valendia, he'll begin colonizing the West." Roxas says is casually, but hopes he'll confirm or deny. The more he knew of the King of Kerwon's current position and maneuverings, the better. Maleek surveys Roxas up and down, frowns, and then looks way. "I agree." Roxas says, sighing loudly. "The fate of those empty, wide plains and those miserable mountain regions seems dull to me as well."

Of course Maleek wouldn't show any relation with Roxas while in front of the guards or the king. Of course he has to act professional. Since his behavior in front of the guards has declared them not to be related to whatsoever, he will act snotty and stuck up just as any other noble.

The _captain's_ jaw tightens as he clamps his teeth.

 _Oh, this is going to be fun_.

"Do you intend to ignore me forever?"

Maleek's brows rise. "I didn't know I was ignoring you."

Roxas purses his lips, checking his irritation. He won't give Maleek the satisfaction. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

"So young!" Roxas bats his eyelashes, watching Maleek for some kind of response. "It only took a few years to climb the ranks?"

Maleek nods. "And how old are you?"

"Twenty, now. But I was nineteen when my reputation was at its highest." Roxas giggles femininely. But the captain says nothing. "I know." Roxas continues. "It is impressive that I accomplished so much at such an early age."

"Crime isn't an accomplishment, Roxas."

 _Says the man who was a Faceless Assassin_! "Yes, but becoming the world's most famous assassin is!" The captain doesn't respond. "You might ask me how I did it."

"Did what?" the captain says tightly.

"Became so talented and famous so quickly."

"I already know how you did it." Maleek says softly.

Roxas can't help but give a slight grin as Maleek tugs on the chains to pull Roxas' horse closer to his, but still a safe distance to avoid suspicion. For a moment, he dares to be genuine. "So," he says, keeping his voice low. "were you apart of the king's guard the whole time?"

"Yes." Maleek nearly whispers. "And again, I'm sorry for everything that's happened."

Roxas' shoulders sag, clinking the chains. "It's not your fault."

"I'd ask what happened, but I can already tell that it will be a conversation for somewhere more private." He gives a small smile, careful not to look too much over his shoulder. Roxas returns the gesture. "So, it's nice to see that you've been training on your Elven skills."

Roxas blinks for a moment. "Oh, yes, well, it's a long story but, Axel's brother had helped me."

"He knew of your heritage? Let alone knew how to _train_ you?"

"I know, surprised me too. And it wasn't bad, but we did see some things out there that maybe you've been investigating." Roxas says. "But, real quick, would they be alarmed if I shifted?" he asks carefully flicking his chin over his shoulder.

"Not really, but I'd save it until we get to the castle." Maleek says, the wind brushes his hair in waves of gold and Roxas can see Maleek's pointed ears.

"It certainly gives me an edge on my skills." Roxas smiles.

"I don't care about how talented you think you are." Maleek suddenly snaps. Roxas is surprised until he realizes that their horses are farther apart and one guard is coming up on Maleek's side, most likely to ask a question or because of suspicion.

"You're not very kind." Roxas says through his teeth. If he is going to get under Maleek's skin, he has to push a lot harder.

"You're a criminal. I'm Captain of the Royal Guard. I'm not obligated to _bestow_ any kindness or conversation upon you. Be grateful we don't keep you locked up in a wagon."

"Yes, well, I'd wager that you're rather unpleasant to talk to even when you're bestowing kindness upon others." When Maleek fails to respond again, Roxas can't help but feel a bit foolish. A few minutes pass. "Are you and the king close friends?"

"My personal life is none of your concern."

Roxas clicks his tongue. "How wellborn are you?"

"Well enough." Maleek's chin lifts almost imperceptibly higher.

"Duke?"

"No."

"Lord?" The captain doesn't reply, and Roxas smiles slowly. "Lord Maleek." Roxas fans himself with a hand. "How the court women must fawn over you!"

"Don't call me that. I'm not given the title of lord." he says quietly.

"You have an older sibling?"

"No."

"Then why don't you bear the title?" Again, no response. Roxas knows he should stop prying, but he can't help it. "A scandal? A deprived birthright? In what sort of messy intrigue are you involved?"

Maleek's lips squeeze together so tightly they turn white.

Roxas leans towards him. "Do you find that –"

"Shall I gag you, or are you capable of being silent without my assistance?" he stares ahead at the king, his face blank again.

Roxas tries not to laugh when Maleek grimaces as he begins speaking again. "Are you married?"

"No."

Roxas picks at his nails. "I'm not married, either." Maleek's flick to the gold band on Roxas ring finger and raises an eyebrow. Suddenly Roxas feels that harsh creature made of grief and sorrow prowl its way towards him. He can't let it have him, or he will break down; fall apart with the emotions of Axel he's been forcing himself to keep inside. He needs to change the subject. "How old are you when you became Captain of the Guard?"

Maleek grips the reins of his horse. "Twenty."

The party halts in a clearing and the soldiers dismount. Roxas faces Maleek, who swings a leg over his horse. "Why have we stopped?"

Maleek unhooks the chain from his own saddle and gives a firm yank, motioning for Roxas to dismount. "Lunch." he says.

Roxas brushes a stray wisp of hair from his face and allows himself to be led into the clearing. If he wants to break free, he'll have to go through Maleek first. Had they been alone, he might have attempted it, though the chains will make it difficult; but with an entourage of royal guards trained to kill without hesitation . . .

Maleek remains close beside Roxas while a fire is kindled and food prepared from the boxes and sacks of supplies. The soldiers roll logs to make small circles, where they sit while their companions stir and fry. King Sephiroth's dogs, who have dutifully trotted alongside their master, approach the assassin with wagging tails and lie at his feet. At least someone is glad for his company.

Hungry by the time a plate is finally laid in his lap, Roxas becomes a bit more than irritated when Maleek does not immediately remove his irons. After giving Roxas a long warning look, Maleek unlocks the chains and clamps them onto Roxas' ankles. Roxas only rolls his eyes as he raises a small portion of meat to his lips. He chews slowly. The last thing he needs is to be sick in front of them. While the soldiers talk amongst themselves, Roxas takes in their surroundings. He and Maleek sit with five soldiers. The king, of course, sits with Remington on their own two logs, far from him. While Sephiroth has been all arrogance an amusement the previous night, his features are grave as he speaks to the duke. His entire body seems tense, and Roxas doesn't fail to notice the way he clenches his jaw when Remington speaks. Whatever their relationship is, it isn't cordial.

Midbite, Roxas tears his focus from the king to study the trees. The forest has gone silent. The ebony hounds' ears are erect, though they don't seem to be bothered by the stillness. Even the soldiers quieted. Roxas' heart skips a beat. The forest is different here.

The leaves dangle like jewels – tiny droplets of ruby, pearl, topaz, amethyst, emerald, and garnet; and a carpet of such riches coat the forest floor around them. Despite the ravages of conquest, this part of Araguay Forest remains untouched. It still echoes with the remnants of the power that it had once given these trees such unnatural beauty.

Roxas was only four when Cloud Skyes, his father and mentor and the King of the Assassins, had come here in the dead of winter for training. He barely remembers what had happened, his father found Roxas half-submerged on the banks of a frozen river and brought him back to the Keep they had on the border between Lionel and Zeltenia. While Cloud trained Roxas to be the finest and most loyal assassin, he has never allowed Roxas to return to Ivalice due to the war. But Roxas still remembers the beauty of the world before the Dark Lord Xehanort had ordered so much of it burned. Now there is little for him there, nor will there ever be. Cloud has never said it aloud, but if Roxas had refused his father's offer to train him, then his death would've befallen onto those who would have killed him. Or worse. Even at eight, Roxas knew that a life with his father, with a name that no one would recognize but someday everyone would fear, is a chance to start over.

 _To escape the fate that led them to leap into the icy river that night almost twelve years ago_.

A strange humming vibrates in the back of Roxas' head, like the tickling of a bee's wings. Roxas can almost see the memory trying to push its way through a translucent grey curtain, but something is preventing it from ripping through . . .

"Damned forest." says an olive-skinned soldier in their circle. Roxas jerks his head towards the group. A soldier beside him chuckles. "The sooner it's burned, the better, I say." The other soldiers nod, and Roxas stiffens. "It's full of hate," says another.

"Did you expect anything else?" Roxas interrupts. Maleek's hand darts to his sword as the soldiers turn to Roxas, some of them sneering. "This isn't just any forest." Roxas beckons with his fork to the woods. "It's Kanaela's forest."

"My father used to tell me stories about it being full of faeries." A soldier says. "They're all gone now. One takes a bite from an apple, and says. "Along with those damned wretched elves." Another says: "We got rid of them, didn't we?"

"I'd watch your tongues." Roxas snaps. "Kanaela was Fae; and Araguay is still hers. I wouldn't be surprised if some of trees remember him."

The soldiers laugh. "They'd have to be two thousand years old, them trees!" says one.

"Fae and Elves can be immortal." Roxas says.

"Trees ain't."

Bristling, Roxas shakes his head and takes another small forkful of food.

"What do you know about this forest?" Maleek quietly asks Roxas. Is he mocking Roxas? The soldiers sit forward, poised to laugh. But the captain's sapphire-blue eyes hold mere curiosity.

Roxas swallows his meat. "Before Kerwon began its civil war, this forest was cloaked in magic." he says softly, but not meekly.

Maleek waits for him to continue, but he has said enough. "And?" Maleek prods.

"And that's all I know." Roxas says, meeting the captain's gaze. Disappointed at the lack of anything to mock, the soldiers return to their meals.

Roxas has lied, and Maleek knew it. Roxas knew plenty about this forest, knew that the denizens of this place have once been faeries: gnomes, sprites, nymphs, goblins, more names than anyone can count or remember. All ruled by their larger, human-like cousins, the immortal Elves – the original inhabitants and settlers of the continent, and the oldest beings in Ivalice.

With the growing corruption of the Dark Lord's campaign to hunt them down and execute them, the faeries and the Elves fled, seeking shelter in the wild, untouched places of the old. It is unknown how many other Elves can be found in Ivalice but it should be known that in some tomes it states that many fled the land, meaning they could be in other parts of Ivalice or on different continents.

The Elves were once a proud and prosperous race that made their home in portions of Ivalice, before their war with the Kerwoneans and slaughter by its armies. The Dark Lord Xehanort had outlawed it all – magic, Elves, faeries – and sought to remove any trace so thoroughly that even those who had magic in their blood almost believed it had never really existed, Roxas himself being one of them. The Dark Lord had claimed that magic is an affront to the Goddess and her gods – that to wield it is to impertinently imitate their power. But the though the dark king had banned magic, most knew the truth: within a month of his proclamation, magic had completely and utterly disappeared of its own accord. Perhaps it had realized what horrors were coming.

The Elves were broken and scattered. Roxas can still smell the fires that had raged throughout her fourth and fifth years – the smoke of burning books chock-full of ancient, irreplaceable knowledge, the screams of gifted seers and healers as they'd been consumed by the flames, the storefronts and sacred places shattered and desecrated and erased from history. Many of the magic-users who hadn't been burned wound up prisoners in Gollund – and most didn't survive long there. It has been a while since Roxas had contemplated the gifts he'd lost, though the memory of her abilities haunts his dreams. Despite the carnage, perhaps it was good that magic had vanished. It is far too dangerous for any sane person to wield; his gifts might have destroyed him by this point.

The smoking fire burns his eyes as Roxas takes another bite. He'll never forget the stories about Araguay Forest, legends of dark, terrible glens and deep, still pools, and caves full of light and heavenly singing. But they are now only stories and nothing more. To speak of them is to invite trouble.

Roxas looks at the sunlight filtering through the canopy, how the trees sway in the wind with their long, bony arms around each other. She suppresses a shiver.

Lunch, thankfully, is over quickly. His chains are transferred to his wrists again, and the horses are refreshed and reloaded. Roxas' legs have become so stiff that Maleek is forced to help him onto his horse. It is painful to ride, and his nose also suffers a blow as the continual stench of horse swat and excrement floats to the back of the entourage.

The travel for the remainder of the day, and the assassin sits in silence as he watches the forest pass, the tightness in his chest not easing until they have left that shimmering glen far behind. His body aches by the time they stop for the night. He doesn't bother to speak at dinner, nor to care when his small tent is erected, guards posted outside, and he is allowed to sleep, still shackled to one of them. He doesn't dream, but when he awakens, he can't believe his eyes.

Small white flowers lie at the foot of his cot, and many infant-sized footprints lead in and out of the tent. Before someone can enter and notice, Roxas sweeps a foot over the tracks, destroying any trace, and stuffs the flowers into a nearby satchel.

Though no one mentions another word about faeries, as they travel onward, Roxas continually scans the soldier's faces for any indication that they had seen something strange. He spends a good portion of the following day with sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat, and keeps one eye fixed on the passing woods.

For the rest of their travels to Valendia, the nights become colder, the days shorter. Hail the size of a coin keeps them company for a week, during which time Roxas is so miserably cold that he contemplates throwing himself into a ravine, hopefully dragging Maleek with him.

Everything is wet and half-frozen, and while he can bear sodden hair, he can't withstand the agony of wet shoes. He has little sensation in his toes. Each night, he wraps them in whatever spare, dry clothing he can find. He feels as if he is a wet rag and the cold will make him solid and even frailer than the starvation. But, as it is autumn weather, the rain suddenly disappears, and cloudless, brilliant skies once more stretch over them.

Roxas is half-asleep on his horse when the King of Valendia pulls out of line and comes trotting towards them, his silver hair swaying. His red cape rise and falls in a crimson wave. Above his unadorned white shirt is a fine cobalt-blue jerkin trimmed with gold. Roxas would have snorted, but he did look rather good in his knee-high brown boots. And his leather belt did go nicely – even though the hunting knife seems a bit too bejeweled. He pulls alongside Maleek. "Come," he says to the captain, and jerks his head at the steep, grassy hill that the company is starting to ascend.

"Where?" the captain asks, jangling Roxas' chain for Sephiroth to notice. Wherever he went, so did Roxas.

"Come see the view." Sephiroth clarifies. "Bring that one, I suppose." Roxas bristles. "That one"! As if he is a piece of baggage!

Maleek moves them out of line, giving Roxas' chain a fierce tug. Roxas grasps the reins as they advance into a gallop, the tangy smell of horsehair creeping into his nostrils. They ride quickly up the steep hill, the horse jerking and surging beneath him. Roxas tries not to wince as he slides backwards in the saddle. If he fell, she'd die of humiliation.

He smells smoke before he sees the lights. Not campfires, but lights from a building rising up out of the trees, hugging the spine of the mountain slope. But the setting sun emerges from the trees behind them, and his breath catches in his throat as a megalith, then three, then six more appear, piercing the sky.

Atop the hill, Roxas stares at the crowning achievement of Valendia. Wards – magic wards. The stones are dark and ancient – hewn from something other than abundant granite. His eyes strain, but he doesn't fail to note the ring of the rocks woven between the trees, surrounding the entirety of the kingdom.

"One more stone and the whole ground will sink into the earth." The King of Valendia says from his spot on the other side of Maleek. The sounds of their approaching party fills the air. "We've still got a few miles left, and I'd rather navigate these foothills in the daylight we'll camp here tonight."

"I wonder what The Thirteen will think of him" Maleek says.

"Oh, I'm sure they won't be too keen on having Kingdom Heart's Assassin in their group. And when he opens his mouth, then the bellowing and blustering will begin; and I'll regret wasting the past two months tracking him down. But – well, I have more important things to worry over." With that, the king moves off.

Roxas can't keep his eyes from the castle. He feels so small, even from far away. He didn't know how dwarfing the building is.

The soldiers scurry about, lighting fires and raising tents. "You look as if you're facing the gallows, not your freedom." The captain says beside him.

Roxas wraps and unwraps a strap of leather rein around a finger. "It's odd to see it."

"The city?"

"Everything. I can't remember the last time I was here." Within the kingdom, Roxas can still see his face, how when he had closed the door, he had taken what was left of Roxas hope and sanity. "I still don't entirely know how it happened."

"How you were captured?"

Roxas nods. "Despite you visions of a perfect world under an empire, your rulers and politicians are quick to destroy each other. So are assassins, I suppose."

"You believe one of your kind betrayed you?"

"I know he had betrayed me. I'm just ashamed my skill wasn't good enough to prevent it. Though I question if he was under some influence, somehow. Everyone in my father's Guild knew I received the best hires and could demand any payment." Roxas scans the twisting city streets and the winding glimmer of the river. "Were I gone, a vacancy would arise from which they could profit. It might have been one; I might have been many."

"You shouldn't expect to find honor amongst such company."

"I didn't say I did. I never trusted most of them, and I knew they hated me." he had his suspicions, of course. And though the answer is obvious, it was a truth he wasn't yet ready to face – not now, not ever.

"Gollund Mine must've been terrible." Maleek says. Nothing malicious or mocking lies beneath his words. Did Roxas dare call it sympathy?

"Yes." Roxas says slowly. "It was." Roxas doesn't want to go any further. Besides his suspicion that Maleek wouldn't really care about it, that is an old repertoire that he has long since closed off in his mind, along with that boy of whom had broken out the night that he was a finger's touch away from the wall. But Maleek gives him a look that asks for more. Well, what did Roxas care if he told him? "When I arrived, they took my weapons, gave me rags, and put a pickax in my hand as if I knew what to do with it. They chained me to the others, and I endured my whippings with the rest of them. But the overseers had been instructed to treat me with extra care, and took the liberty of rubbing salt into my wounds – salt _I_ mined – and whipped me often enough so that some of the gashes never really closed. It was through the kindness of a few prisoners from Galtea that my wounds didn't become infected. Every night, one of them stayed up the hours it took to clean my back."

When Maleek understands that Roxas is done speaking, he doesn't reply nor meddle any further. He only glances at Roxas before dismounting. Had Roxas been a fool to tell him something so personal? Maleek doesn't speak to him again that day, except to bark commands.


	30. Chapter 4 (Part Two)

That night, when the campsite has gone quiet, Roxas awakens with a gasp, a hand on his throat, cold sweat sliding down his back and pooling in the hollow beneath his mouth and chin. He'd had the nightmare before – where he has his hands tied to the whipping posts flanking his sides. And everyone he's loved, killed or failed stands behind him with an iron tipped whip, their faces obscured by shadows, but it's their other traits that makes them so familiar. They take turns whipping at his back, spiting vile words at him for what he is: Traitor. Liar. Failure. And it was everyone. Axel, Demyx, Lexaeus, Vanitas, Reno, Zexion.

Ventus. His blonde hair is beautiful and glints in a light all its own. His body beautifully lean in a white tunic and tan pants. He would step forward and would give the most lashings. But within the lashings, Roxas can hear the words that Reno had spoken to him; the words that haunted him all through his time in the mines.

" _You are a coward_!"

The pain was blinding.

" _You are nothing more than a coward_!"

And then he is suddenly dropped into one of the mass graves in Gollund. And when he tries to pull himself from the tangle of rotting limbs, he'd been dragged down into a pile twenty bodies deep. And then no one notices that he is still screaming when they bury him alive.

Nauseated, Roxas wraps his arms around his knees. He breathes – in and out, in and out – and tilts his head, his sharp kneecaps pushing against his cheekbone. Due to the unseasonably warm weather, they'd forgone sleeping in tents – which gives him an unparalleled view of the kingdom. The illuminated castle rises from the sleeping city like a mound of ice and steam. There is something bluish about it, and it seems to pulse.

Tonight – tonight is so quiet, like the calm before the storm.

He pulls his cloak around himself. He will fight. He'd fight and win, and serve the King of Valendia, and then vanish into nothing, and think no more of castles or kings or assassins. He doesn't wish to reign over this city again. Magic is dead, the Elves are banished or executed, and she will never again have anything to do with the rise and fall of kingdoms.

He isn't fated for anything. Not anymore.

A hand on his sword, Maleek watches the assassin deep within the cover of the trees. He is so different than to how he had seen Roxas before.

Apart from that he wasn't disturbingly thin and his features looking gaunt and haunted, if Maleek thought Roxas was broken before, it was nothing compared to how he sees him now. Maleek almost wanted to cry when he saw Roxas; looking so, fragile with the chains around his wrist and ankles, his body reduced to a walking skeleton and that look of hopelessness, like he can look at you, but it's like you're not even there.

When he had heard that Roxas had been captured, he had been with the king out of state at the Deist Isles. He raced back as quickly as he could, but Roxas was already gone and his sentence confirmed.

But gods – that look in his eyes – Maleek has seen it vanish ever so slightly since he had reviled himself in the throne room, and thankfully the king is aware of Roxas and their history, but still . . . there is still so much that Roxas needs to know. _Deserves_ to know.

Yet it is the fact that Roxas had been betrayed that startles him the most. Who in their right mind would betray him? Don't they know what he is capable of?

Through a clearing in the swirling mass, a cluster of stars can be seen. He can't help but think that they gazed down at Roxas.

He wanted to ask Roxas so many questions; who had done this to you? How did training go? Can you control your magic? So many questions, but the most important one: who and where can he find the betrayer of Roxas? Maleek wanted to gut him alive.

That betrayer had done so much. He had broken Roxas, in more ways than one, he made him endure the pains and horrors and suffering of Gollund Mine.

Maleek can practically see the fissures that travel all along Roxas' body, depicting how broken he is, or at least how close he is to cracking. The fissures haven't yet made it to his face, but Maleek can picture one large crack, the crack that formed the night he was betrayed, that is the starter of the destruction.

How can he heal Roxas now? Maleek even fears he is broken beyond repair, but yet, he remembers what he had said to Axel that one night in Axel's chambers of the glass castle. " _He has no hope, Axel. He has none left in his heart! You keep shoving him down when he so desperately needs someone to pick him up_!"

Guess is that all Maleek can do is remind Roxas that he still has someone. He hasn't lost everyone. Retreating to his blanket, Maleek lies on his side, still watching Roxas as the assassin watches the stars.

In the morning, they gather their things and head down to the megaliths and the city gates. When they ride between two megaliths that curve toward each other like the horns of a great beast, and a zigzag current snaps against Roxas' skin.

His stomach churns. The feeling of the magical ward . . . it's like static electricity. If they didn't keep enemies out, they certainly served as an alarm. Which means the three figures patrolling each of the three towers, the six on the outer retaining wall, and the three at the wooden gates will now know they are approaching. Men and women in light leather armor and bearing swords, daggers, and bows monitor their approach.

At the sound of a whip, Roxas' head snaps to the side.

Slaves stagger down the gangplank of a merchant ship. A mix of conquered nations bound together, each of them has the hollow, raging face she's seen so many times before. Most of the salves are prisoners of war – rebels who survived the butchering blocks and endless lines of Kerwon's armies. Some are probably people who had been caught of accused of trying to practice magic. But others are just ordinary folk, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now that Roxas notices, there are countless chained slaves working the docks, lifting and sweating, holding parasols and pouring water, eyes on the ground or the sky – never on what is before them.

He wants to leap from his horse and run to them, or to simply scream that he isn't a part of this king's court, that he has no hand in bringing them here, chained and starved and beaten, that he has worked and bled with them, with their families and friends – he is not like these monsters that destroyed everything. That he has done something, only a year ago, when he had freed almost two-hundred salves from a Pirate Lord. Even that, though, isn't enough.

The city is suddenly separate, ripped from him. People still wave and bow, cheering and laughing, throwing flowers and other nonsense before their horses. He has difficulty breathing.

The winding, elegant streets are full of musicians and dancing and vendors selling hot food and drinks. Here there is no empire weighing on them, no darkness or cold or despair. It almost makes Roxas sick to think that while these Elves drink and dance and mull, other Elves in other kingdoms have been butchered and burned. Many citizens see Sephiroth as their savior and always boast on how he is fighting for their freedom, still, Roxas can't bring himself to smile at the merriment.

As they near the pale opal palace, Roxas notes shadows trailing them from the rooftops and alleys, a few birds of prey circling above.

Even when the king passes by, he gives them a terse nod and smile to the guards, Maleek doesn't even lift an arm in greeting to the sentries. He must be familiar with this place if he doesn't stoop to hellos. As they draw closer to the ancient castle – which is bordered by a few watchtowers woven together by a large connecting building, splattered with lichen and moos – Roxas does the calculations. This has to be the main, main kingdom where the king resides. Whereas Roxas remembers the castle in Lesalia and King Sephiroth riding out through its gates, it must be his version of a summer home.

The guards salute Maleek, who doesn't spare them a passing glance. They all wear hoods, masking any signs of their heritage. Are they Elven? If Roxas is staying with the Elves . . . others might have questions. But if Maleek is Elven too . . . Roxas just decides to follow Maleek's advice and wait until he declares his place safe.

Roxas takes in every detail, every exit, every weakness as they entered the large courtyard beyond the wall, two rather mortal-looking stable hands rushing to help them dismount. It is so still. As if everything, even the stones, is holding its breath. As if it has been waiting.

The large golden, ornately carved double doors are pulled open by the guards to reveal a grand foyer. Pale white columns line both sides and stretch far, far back and supporting mezzanines on each side. There is no carpet, just the polished opal with its little tendrils and speckles of color.

They follow King Sephiroth, who, like Maleek, is swathed in a violet cape, pinned over the left breast with a brooch fashioned after the Valendian royal seal. The king wears a golden crown upon his neat hair, and Roxas has to concede that he looks rather regal.

They are led through a shining palace of pale stone and sky-blue gossamer curtains, the floors a mosaic of delicate tiles depicting various scenes, from dancing maidens to pastorals to the night sky. Throughout the building, the river itself runs in tiny streams, sometimes gathering in pools freckled with night-blooming lilies. Jasmine weaves around the massive columns, and lights of colored glass hang from the arched ceilings. Roxas gapes at the beauty in awe. Enough of the palace is open to the elements to suggest that the weather here is always mild. Music plays from distant rooms, but it is faint and placid compared to the riot of sound and color in the city outside the mammoth marble palace walls.

Not too different from the glass castle back in Traverse Town in Kingdom Hearts. But King Sephiroth's grand palace has been built from stone – so much stone, everywhere, all of it pale and carved and polished and gleaming.

Sentries are everywhere. They lurk just out of sight, but in his Elven body – of which he secretly shifted into for a simple minute – Roxas can smell them, the steel and the crisp scent of whatever soap they must use in the barracks. If they all knew who Roxas was, they certainly weren't underestimating him. Good.

The waterfall beyond the palace roars, though not loud enough to drown out conversation. The crystal clear water runs through every room and hall.

"Maleek will show you to your private chambers." King Sephiroth says over his shoulder with a wave of his hand. "From there I will meet you in my throne room and perhaps I can gather The Thirteen in time to meet you."

Roxas turns his head to the king. "Are you sure that's wise?" Roxas speaks and Maleek turns to him, but Roxas doesn't care.

King Sephiroth stops and turns and gives Roxas a puzzled look. "What troubles you?"

Roxas looks to Maleek and looks back to the king. "I'm poorly out of shape, and have only just arrived!" Maleek gives a tug on Roxas' chains, hard enough that the cuffs chafe against his bandaged wrists, the pain eliciting Roxas' eyes to water. Still, Roxas continues. "I at least deserve a day's rest before I meet your warriors. I'm gravely skinny and pale. Apart from utterly humiliating me, your reputation will be questioned as well."

"The Thirteen know better than to question me." The king says as he steps closer. He is intimidatingly tall, at least to anyone else. Though admittedly, Roxas does feel short compared to this man. Roxas' eyes run level with Sephiroth's collarbone. "And you're going to meet them some time or another. You're not going to get in shape in a matter of days."

"Even so, the mere sight of me in such a pathetic state will make you and I a laughing mockery, if not up front than in private at least. A couple days rest is all I ask. Even with that I can make time into treating myself."

Sephiroth looks to Maleek, but Roxas keeps his head forward on the king. And when King Sephiroth closes his eyes and sighs softly, Roxas gives a small smile. "Very well, Maleek will show you to your chambers and you may have dinner in private. After you're, settled in, we shall begin the introductions."

This time, when Roxas bows he is genuine. "Thank you, Your Highness."

Sephiroth raises in eyebrows in surprise and exchanges a glance with Maleek before giving Roxas his first gentle smile. He gives a slight bow to Roxas before turning away and continuing down the hall. His violet purple cloak whispers against the floor and his long silver hair swaying with his steps.

A hand claps on his shoulder and Roxas realizes he's been staring. He turns to Maleek who gives another smile. He waves his hand and Roxas follows, the clinking of the chains is the loudest thing in his ears despite the hissing of the waterfall.

Maleek is in the lead and Roxas continues to look around the halls, taking in the exits and escape routes while aweing at the exquisite décor. They come to a set of double golden doors, their handles carved into the shape of lions with the door knocker in their mouths. Maleek takes the ring and pulls open the doors with a slight grunt. "Your chambers." He ushers Roxas inside.

Roxas' breath leaves his lungs in a rushed exhale. Beyond the doors, the interior is a mixture of light and shadow. They enter a giant chamber, bigger than the one he had at the glass castle in Traverse Town, flanked by more white pillars decorated with lush green vines with flowers blooming out here and there that support mezzanines on either side. They stretch behind a large fountain at the epicenter of the room to more of the chamber.

A narrow mosaic of green and blue glass tiles weave through the floor towards the fountain, which ends in a wall below the banister of the upper level. As Roxas approaches the fountain, it's really much bigger than he thought, enough to hold the company of twenty men, and he sees another carving of a lion in silver, water pouring from its mouth. Peering over the white tile edge, Roxas realizes that the fountain has three steps down to the bottom. Lily pads float on top, some with bright pink flowers, and the sweet scent of seasonal berries wafts into his nose. Is this the bath?

"Roxas." Maleek calls. Roxas jerks his head up to find Maleek already on the second floor, leaning on the railing overlooking the fountain. Potted plants and vines shelter his arms, their vines stretching down on either side of the fountain. Light pours in from a glass dome high above the fountain, illuminating the entire chamber.

Roxas hurries his steps, carefully trekking up the stairs and meeting Maleek. He leads Roxas further into the back of the chamber, and there is a rotunda as the epicenter. From there, it branches out to a spacious bedroom on the left, and a dining room on the right, and a balcony just outside the floor-to-ceiling glass doors and windows at the back of the rotunda. All of it is open with no doors to separate them apart from the bathing chamber.

Roxas walks a few paces ahead of Maleek, who has stopped, and looks all around his massive chamber like a child in a candyshop.

"If you want me to leave, just let me know." Maleek says.

"No, no. Please stay." Roxas insists.

Chuckling to himself, Maleek wanders over to a set of furniture – dark oak cushioned armchairs and a small table – and takes a seat.

Everywhere around the upper floor, cushioned and fluffy pillows are sprinkled about with delicate embroidery or elegant tassels of silk or velvet.

Roxas bed is up on a dais and has four posts of mahogany wood. The elegant white sheets drip over the edges of the bed, falling in gentle folds along the steps. The pleats and endless ripples in the lavish garment gave the illusion of softness. All of it barely encased in a pale blue canopy sweeping above the bed. Then two simple potted birch trees flank the bed as well as two simple, single drawer end tables.

Taking his steps along the floor, the tiles now in the design of a lotus flower, he passes the glass doors of the balcony, more gossamer lave veils obscuring view, but Roxas can see that the balcony extends further out into an aqueduct that becomes a bridge. Intimidating statues of Elven warriors with their swords extended out act like nonmoving guards. Their faces stern.

Moving on to the right of the chamber, Roxas enters the dining room, the windows of the balcony following through the length of the room. The table is long, made for a company of forty, making Roxas feel so small. Its legs end like the clawed feet of a gryphon and subtle tendril designs crawl their way up the legs. Walking through an archway, he enters the dressing room, where an entire portion of the wall is dominated with clothing of exquisite taste, and another dais with a three-paneled mirror. One wall has an entire filled shoe rack, then there's shirts on hangers that are suspended on a clothing rack that spins, same for the pants. Then there's a vanity as well as a wardrobe.

The upper floor it stretches back to the front of the room, but each has a single door on the left and right. On the right hand side, it leads to the bathing room. Roxas hears Maleek follow as he pushes open one of the double oak doors. Inside, there are towering palms and date trees sagging with the weight of their fruit, the baths are made from the same sea green and cobalt tiles that had formed the mosaic leading to the fountain, kept cool by white awnings jutting out from the walls. There are multiple large pools – some steamed, some bubbled, some steamed _and_ bubbled.

Roxas didn't finish his exploration as he slips into one that is utterly calm and clear and cold. He hears Maleek chuckle, and then the soft click of the door as he leaves.

He stifles a groan as he submerges himself and stays under until his lungs ache. He bathed feeling almost as dirty as he had in Gollund. While modesty was a trait he'd learned to live without, he still keeps himself low in the water. Opening his eyes, he sees more rectangular skylights, three on both sides of the slanted roof.

However long later, with his hands pruning, there's a knock and Roxas calls them to come in. servants dressed in simple white dresses enter and bow to Roxas. Maleek must've sent them when he realized Roxas wasn't coming out.

He was grateful for the gentle servants who attended him. Many of the wounds have scabbed or remained as thin white lines, though his back retains most of its damage. After nearly two hours of pampering – trimming his hair, shaping his nails, and scraping away the callous on his feet and hands – Roxas grins at the mirror in the dressing room.

Only in the capital can servants have done such fine work. He looks spectacular. Utterly and completely spectacular; in an intimidating kind of way. Even he simply wears a simple white silk nightgown, but still he is starting to see the glimmer of the boy he had once been.

Finally emerging from the bathing chamber, Roxas finds that four hours total has passed. Two of which he spent bathing, the other two spent being pampered, and yet he still finds Maleek sitting at the same armchair, only this time he has a book in his hand.

Roxas walks quietly, his bare feet patting against the marble tile. The fiddles with the fabric as he approaches, his cheeks flushing when Roxas realizes the nightgown stops just above his knees. "Where did you get that?" Roxas asks.

Maleek looks up to him and smiles. He closes the book and leans forward. "He finally emerges. You look good."

Roxas bashfully giggles, but clears his throat. "Um, I asked you a question."

"It's from your library." Maleek says.

Roxas' eyes widen and his heart triples in speed. "M-My . . . what?"

Maleek chuckles. "Your library, it's on the left hand side. That other door?"

Roxas looks over and his bare feet quickly pad across the cold floor, Maleek chuckling more behind him as Roxas almost desperately pries open the oak doors to reveal an entirely different, world basically.

There's not a trace of marble anywhere, instead it's a large room of carved oak furniture, folded green drapes, and the warmth of a fire in a grand fireplace. Walking in, there's large a desk with a chair behind it, with a leather pad and a couple fine pens in their holder tucked into the corner of the room. A crystal chandelier, the only one in the entire span of the massive marble chamber, hangs from the dome ceiling, and the fireplace is along the opposite wall across from the desk. Then it's another floor-to-ceiling window and then the expanse of the shelves. The shelves are all divided into glass cabinets and they stretch back for a few good three hundred sixty-three feet. And they are _full_ , there are ladders that slide along the shelves and podiums dotted every odd spacing.

The farther back it goes, there are more windows, painting of nature settings, bronze busts of people Roxas doesn't care to know, and more comfy furniture build for the specific reason of snuggling in to enjoy one of the many reads here; all scattered in a tasteful manner. In the very back, the room turns into a little bit of a tower with a staircase leading up to a second floor with more books, a grand piano up against one wall and a couple window on each floor. With it being in the very back of the room, it reminds Roxas of like a little nook area.

"All this . . ." Roxas breathes, a hand on his chest. "for me?"

"Well, truthfully this was built only because the king ran out of room in his own library. And this room needed to details." Maleek says with a shrug of his shoulders.

Roxas whirls to face him. " _This_ was built because his library is _full_? There must be hundreds of books in here alone. I didn't know the king likes to read."

"Of course, nearly as much as you." Maleek smiles. "Who knows, maybe it'll give you two something to talk about."

Suddenly a chimes rings out from a grandfather clock posted next to the fireplace. It's half past six in the evening. Roxas turns to Maleek as he stretches and sighs. "Well, I guess that does it for our time together. I'll take my leave them."

Maleek leaves the library and study, Roxas hurrying behind him. After he closes the door, he asks. "Am I allowed to read these?"

Maleek was halfway down the marble step when he stops. "Of course, I'm sure the king won't mind. He gave you this room knowing what was in it."

Roxas fidgets with his nightgown again. He takes a couple steps down and Maleek turns to face him fully. His cheeks feel warm. "Do you have any private chambers here?" Roxas asks.

"I do." Maleek grins, and for the first time ever, Roxas notices Maleek as a dimple on the right corner of his mouth. "Feel free to come and visit." His voice was low and raspy.

 _Gods above and Lords save me_.

Roxas takes another step forward, down towards Maleek and wraps his arms around the man's strong column of a neck. Burrowing his face into Maleek's shoulder, Roxas feeds on the warmth he feels coming from Maleek's body. His strong arms wrap around Roxas and the blonde can feel Maleek rest his cheek against his chest. Angling his head, Roxas' lips are against Maleek's hair.

After another couple moments, Maleek pulls away and holds Roxas hands in his own. He brings Roxas' skeletal hand up to his full, pink lips and kisses the knuckles.

"Sleep well, Roxas."

With that, he leaves Roxas on the staircase and closes the door behind him.

Alone in the massive chamber, his clapping feet is the only sound as he trudges over to the rotunda and gazes out of the glass doors and windows. It is only six, and he isn't tired in the slightest. He could write to Axel.

 _Axel_! He . . . He has to know! Has to know Roxas is free!

Roxas rushes back to the library and scrambles through the desk for a piece of parchment. He dips the glass pen in a pot of ink and holds it over the paper.

How odd it felt to hold a pen! Roxas traces the letters in the air. It is impossible that he'd forgotten how to write. His fingers move awkwardly as the pen touches the paper, but he carefully writes his name, then the alphabet, three times. The letters are uneven, but he can do it. Still . . . Roxas pauses when his mind – and common sense – catch up with him.

If he were to write to Axel, saying he is now under service of the king, what will he think? What will Axel do? It won't be easy for him to request an audience with the king, and no doubt Maleek and Sephiroth will be outraged if they find out that Roxas had contacted Axel.

They might throw him back in the mines. That's right . . . anything Roxas might do risks him getting thrown back into Gollund Mine. The king could send him there before Axel even gets the letter.

Slowly and sadly, Roxas sets down the pen and feels like crying.

He sets the pen back into the inkpot. And yet . . . he could just write a draft letter. He needs the practice anyway, dig up all of his knowledge and encyclopedic vocabulary that he had possessed beforehand. He pulls out another piece of paper and begins to write.

After three hours or writing, Roxas finally puts down the pen and massages his cramping fingers. He has written at least ten copies of his draft letter to Axel, each sentence changed, scribbled out, rewritten, some of the words he had to write on a separate sheet of paper to double check his spelling. The desk is now covered with the papers, and Roxas is now confident that he can write at least neater. He gathers the papers and tapping them into order, opens the first drawer and sets them inside.

Delicately rubbing his bandages wrists, Roxas looks to the grandfather clock now reading nine o'clock at night. But his eyelids are only slightly droopy.

Without looking, Roxas wanders through the shelves and picks up a book towards the near back and finally exits the library.

Now with the night sky overhead, the chamber is slightly darker, but there's a full moon tonight so the chamber is still bright enough, only now the marble tiles seem to glow with a calming aura of the moon.

As Roxas walks back to his bed, he stops when he sees a small letter on the console table up against the balcony overlooking the fountain and entryway of the chamber. Roxas sees it with a royal seal and gives a small smile.

Setting the book down, Roxas opens up the letter and reads:

 _When you were taken to the mines, the guards confiscated your weapons, but when they saw these, they decided to send them to the king. He kept them in his personal armory as well as keeping them in perfect shape. Needless to say, he and many of the guards had many questions as to how you had obtained these, but I managed to pacify them into leaving the subject be. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to have any proper scabbards, so I am in the process of having them made by the castle's personal blacksmith. Hopefully they will arrive within a few days' time. It took a lot of convincing and persuading to get them to give these to you, so be grateful – and_ _responsible_ _._

 _Yours most truly,_

 _Maleek Cambrook_

Roxas chuckles, so _that_ was Maleek's last name. But the weapons . . .

A shiver runs up Roxas' spine. Something makes him turn towards his bed and he sees the glint of a black blade and a handle bearing two angel wings.

Roxas scrambles over to his bed and leans over, placing his hands on the silken sheets. The blades are as beautiful and as intimidating as the day the long-dead Elven ruler Queen Lilian had given them to Roxas in order to defeat his mother.

Oathkeeper. Oblivion.

As Roxas reaches out his shaking hand, the black blade seems to glow from the inside, as if sensing his presence and is showing expressions of . . . excitement. Roxas' eyes well with tears.

Clasping his fingers around the hilt, Roxas lifts the blade, and nearly topples to the floor. They're heavier than he remembered – or perhaps he is just that much out of shape. Gods, any blade he could lift like a feather, and now, with his gravely skinny arms, he needs both his hands to lift _one_ blade. Humiliating!

Still he was more than grateful, even impressed that Maleek had managed to give these back to him, even more surprised and that that had been shipped to the king. Coincidence? The swords were used to battle the Dark Lord Xehanort.

Shaking his head, Roxas takes the blades, his arms shaking and leans them against his end table. He then climbs up into bed, snuggling beneath the sheets that felt and smelt clean. In his privacy, Roxas burrows his head into his pillow and giggles with glee. As he shifts to his side, the moonlight seems to make the blades glow with pride, like a purple ember and a light of heaven itself.

For the first time in forever, Roxas allows the happiness that he has kept trapped in his heart, break free and fill him with warmth. Closing his eyes, Roxas easily falls asleep that night.

He awakens the next morning to the booming of a clock tower. Half-asleep, he counts the chimes. Noon. He sits up. Where was Maleek? And, more importantly, what about their meeting with the king? He didn't exactly give Roxas any details.

Roxas leaps from bed and stalks through his chambers, half expecting to find Maleek sitting in the library, a book in his hand. He isn't there. Roxas pops his head into the hallway, but the four guards only reach for their weapons. He paces onto the balcony, the crossbows of five guards beneath clicking into position, and puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the autumn day.

The aqueduct, turning into a bridge lined with those statues of Elven warriors with their swords extended out, Roxas look down and finds the bridge walks over the sparring courtyard of the guards; the courtyard leading into a smaller domed tower. And his view is of a few others towers and domed buildings of the castle, but then it's the castle gardens, and then the kingdom itself.

The trees in the garden are gold and brown, half of the leaves already dead on the earth. Yet the day is so warm is could have passed for summer. Roxas takes a seat on the rail, and waves at the guards with their crossbows aimed at him. Out across Valendia, he can make out the sails of ships, and the wagons and people streaming through the streets. The blue roofs of the city glow sapphire in the sun.

He looks again at the five guards beneath the balcony. They stare right back at Roxas, and when they slowly lower their crossbows, Roxas grins. He can knock them senseless with a few heavy books.

A sound flits through the garden, and some of the guards glance towards the source. Three women appear from around a nearby hedge, clustered in conversation.

Most of the talk Roxas has overheard yesterday was immediately dull, and he doesn't expect much as the women near. They wear fine dresses, though the one in the middle – the bronze-haired once – wears the finest. The red skirts are the size of a tent, and her bodice is so tightly bound that Roxas wonders if her waist is any more than sixteen inches. The other women are blondes dressed in pale blue, their matching gown suggest their rank as ladies-in-waiting. Roxas back away from the ledge as they stop at the nearby fountain.

From his place at the back of the balcony, Roxas can still see as the woman in red brushes a hand down the front of her skirts. "I should have worn my white dress." She says loudly enough for everyone in Valendia to hear. "Maleek likes white." She adjusts a pleat in her skirt. "but I'll wager that everyone' wearing white."

"Shall we go change, milady?" asks one of the blondes.

"No," snaps the woman. "This dress is fine. Old and shabby as it is."

"But –" says the other blonde, then stops as her mistress's head whips around. Roxas approaches the rail again and peers over. The dress hardly looks old.

"It won't take long for Maleek to ask me for a private audience." Roxas now leans over the ledge of the balcony. The guards watch the three girls, rapt for another reason entirely. "Though I worry how much Remington's courting will interfere; but I _do_ adore the man for inviting me to Valendia. My mother must be writhing in her grave!" she pauses and then says: "I wonder who he is."

"Your mother, milady?"

"The boy the king _himself_ brought into Valendia. I heard he traveled all over Ivailce to find him, and that he rode into the city on Captain of the Guard's horse. I've heard nothing else about him. Not even his name." The two women lag behind their mistress and exchange exasperated looks that informs the assassin this conversation had been held many times before. "I don't need to worry," the woman muses. "The Captain's little whore won't be well-received."

 _His what_?

The ladies in waiting stop beneath the balcony, batting their eyelashes at the guards. "I need my pipe," the woman murmurs, rubbing her temples. "I feel a headache coming on." Roxas' brows rise. "Regardless." The woman continues, striding away. "I shall have to watch my back. I might even have to –"

 _CRASH_!

The women scream, the guards whirl with their crossbows pointed, and Roxas looks skyward as he retreats from the rail and into the shadows of the balcony doorway. The flowerpot had missed. This time.

The woman curses so colorfully that Roxas clamps a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. The servants coo wiping mud from the woman's skirts and suede shoes. "Be quiet!" the woman hisses. The guards, wisely, don't let their amusement show. "Be quiet and let's go!"

The woman hurries off as the captain's harlot strode into his chambers and called for his servants to dress him in the finest clothes they can find.


	31. Chapter 5 (Part Two)

Roxas stands before the rosewood mirror, smiling.

He rubs the fabric between his fingers. The darkness of his layered tunic with golden embroidery glints in the dim light; and is also intentionally ripped in certain places to look more detailed. The grey of his close-fitting pants is bordered with a thin line of black ornate designs down the sides, and fit smoothly into his steel poleyns, spiked greaves and turn into his ebony black boots that lie under his sabatons. Then his black-and-gold jacket, fitted with reptilian designs is of fine make and the sleeves are wrinkled as the steel vambraces scrunch up the fabric. Roxas can't stop ruffling his fingers and smiling so wide. Though the smile falters as he remembers exactly why he's here.

The King's Champion indeed. He looks more like the King's Lapdog.

The finishing touch is a belt made to hold many weapons, but he's only granted his two swords Oblivion and Oathkeeper. But it's all he needs.

"Stunning." Roxas whirls around to find Maleek standing in the doorway with his arms folded. Roxas tries not to preen – and fails miserably. "It's a shame you are already spoken for." Maleek says as he enters further into the dressing room. "You could ensnare some lord into marriage. Maybe even some of the king's court if you were charming enough." Maleek adjusts the green folds of his cape, fixing rolled up section around his shoulders.

"Well, it seems rumors have already suggested that. I overheard a girl saying that you brought me here to woo me. Does the court not know about my joining of The Thirteen?"

Maleek sighs as he turns to Roxas. "Whatever the rumors are, it'll all be over in a week – just you wait. I'll simply just speak with another pretty woman and you'll have vanished from the whisperings of the court." Roxas straightens as Maleek uses his finger to brush aside some of Roxas' bangs. "Oh, it's not meant as an offense, little pet. Beautiful people are always associated with me – you should be flattered that you're attractive enough to be considered my lover."

" _Flattered_?" Roxas breathes with an insulted laugh. "Oh of course," Roxas sets his hand on his chest. "Out of everything that I had ever hoped for, being associated as the Captain of the Guard's _harlot_ ; oh I am truly unworthy, sir." His lips then contorts into a snarl. "I ought to scratch that smirk off your face. I'd rather not be seen that way at all."

"Better as an assassin, I'd wager."

Roxas looks at Maleek and then laughs.

Maleek shakes his head. "Your face is so much more handsome when you smile. Cute, even. Far better than that frown you always have."

"Yes," Roxas admits. "you might be right. But it is rather surprising that you're a favorite with women."

"What do you mean surprise?" Maleek grins. "I have a big heart, I'll let you know. And it'd be best if you mind your tongue."

"I do as I please." Roxas surveys the strong angles of Maleek's face. Even if Roxas is as withered as a dehydrated flower, he'd still overpower Maleek in a heartbeat.

"Then you'll find yourself back in those mines, pet." Maleek puts a hand on his hip. "Oh, don't scowl – you ruin your face when you look like that." He reaches to pink Roxas' cheek, and Roxas pulls away.

"Are you mad? I'm an assassin – not some court idiot!"

Maleek chuckles. "You're still a man, and so long as you're under my charge, you'll act like one, or gods help me!"

Roxas blinks, then slowly says: You're awfully bold. Do you think you hold some kind of invincibility now that I know of your position?"

"Ah. There is surely a reason why I was assigned to attend you."

"You understand what my occupation entails, don't you?"

"No disrespect, but this sort of finery is worth far more than seeing my head roll on the ground." Roxas' upper lip pulls back from his teeth as the captain tilts his head to the side, observing the assassin. "Don't make such a face," Maleek says, and his finger brushes over the tip of Roxas' nose. "It squishes that little nose of yours."

Roxas can only gape at the captain as he shuffles away. He looks over his shoulder.

"Come and meet me at the landing when you're ready to leave."

"Where are we going?" Roxas calls.

Maleek stops and turns slightly back towards the assassin. "Let's just go for a walk."

Roxas gives the captain a questionable look, but guess some things are better than just wandering around his giant chamber. If this is just one of the many rooms here in the castle, then there must be countless others. Adjusting his jacket, Roxas hurries down the steps towards Maleek, the guards outside standing rigid at attention.

Once Maleek closes the door behind Roxas, they make their way down the hallway. "Where are we going?" Roxas asks."

"Well, I really just want to show you something that I think you'll like, meanwhile it can be a little bit of a tour." Maleek answers with an impish smile. "Do you find the king's home to your liking?"

"It's very fine, indeed." Roxas says as he casts his gaze around the grandness and gleam of the hall. Their boots click against the marble floor, the large windows lining the wall fill the corridor with natural light. "Unlike any other castle that I've seen."

"At least it does more than look pretty. Most mock the architect because they think the marble make it as fragile as a house of cards." Maleek chuckles. "But the stone holds up pretty well. Surprisingly fire resistant, too."

The sentence immediately provokes the images of Roxas and his magic. Back in Twilight Town, his magical tantrum in the field, the way he had erupted it to save Sora from those skinwalkers, attempting to train with Reno. Maleek had witnessed Roxas' power when he thought Axel was dead. He knows of Roxas' power and his lack of control. Whether those words were intentional, he doesn't know. Before Roxas can ask, someone curtsied in the middle of their path. "My lord! What a surprise!" the voice is high, but smooth and calculated. It is the woman from the garden. She'd changed – she now wears a gown of white and gold that, despite himself, Roxas greatly admires. She is unfairly beautiful.

And Roxas is willing to bet a fortune that this is anything _but_ a surprise – the woman has probably been waiting here for a while.

"Lady Selphie." Maleek says tersely, his body tensing.

"I've just some from His Majesty's side," says Selphie, putting her back to Roxas. The assassin might have bothered to care about the slight if he had any interest in courtiers. "His Majesty wishes to see You Lord. Of course, I informed His Majesty that you, my Captain, was in a meeting and could not be –"

"Lady Selphie," Maleek interrupts, "I'm afraid you haven't been introduced to my friend." Roxas could have sworn the young woman bristled. "Allow me to introduce the Sir Tobias Cordano. Sir Tobias, meet Lady Selphie Tilmitt."

Roxas bows, restraining the urge to keep walking; if he had to deal with too much courtly nonsense, he might be better back in Gollund. Selphie curtsied, the gold streak sin her dress glistening in the sunlight.

"Sir Tobias is from Lesalia – he arrived just yesterday."

The woman studies Roxas from beneath golden-brown, shaped eyebrows. Roxas lifts his chin. At least he looks plenty masculine in his leather jacket and metal vambraces, and the two ancient swords strapped to his wrist. "And how long will you be staying with us?"

"Only a few years." Maleek says with a sigh.

"'Only'! Why, My Lord! How droll! That is a very long stretch of time!" Roxas studies Selphie's narrow, narrow waist. Is it really that small? Or can she barely breathe in her corset?

Thankfully Selphie doesn't catch the glance exchanged between Roxas and Maleek – exasperation, annoyance, condescension. "The Sir Tobias and I are very close companions." Maleek says dramatically. To Roxas' despise, he blushes. He doesn't know who this Cecil even is! "It will feel short for us, I assure you."

" _You_ , my Lord?" Selphie says coyly. A concealed edge lingers beneath her voice.

Mischief coils and springs within Roxas, but Maleek answers. "I promise," he drawls, turning those brilliant blue eyes on Roxas, "that it will _very_ be difficult for Sir Tobias and I. Perhaps more so."

Selphie snaps her attention to Roxas. "Wherever did you find that jacket?" she purrs. "It's extraordinary."

"I had it made for him." Maleek says casually, picking at his nails. The assassin and the captain glance at each other, their blue eyes reflecting the same intent. At least they had _one_ common enemy. "It _does_ look extraordinary on him, doesn't it?"

Selphie's lips purse for a moment, but then blooms into a full smile. "Simply stunning. Though such a dark color of black tends to wash out men of pallid skin."

"The Sir Tobias' paleness is a source of pride for his father. It makes him rather unusual." Maleek looks to a guard passing them by and says. "Don't you agree, sir?"

The guard stops dead with raised eyebrows. "About what, Captain Camobrook?"

"How _unusual_ Sir Tobias is?"

"Shame on you Captain Camobrook!" Roxas chides, concealing his wicked amusement beneath a giggle. "I _pale_ in comparison to Lady Selphie's fine features."

Selphie shakes her head, but looks at Maleek as she speaks. "You're too kind."

Maleek shifts on his feet. "Well, we've dallied enough. I must tend to Sir Tobias now." Maleek doesn't even bother to kiss the woman's hand, as is custom when speaking with members of the court. Instead, he takes Roxas' hand, lacing their fingers together and patting Roxas' side. "Until our next meeting, Lady Selphie

"And I must meet His Grace, Duke Remington. I do hope we see more of each other, Sir Tobias." She says, watching with a keenness that would make any assassin proud. "We must be friends, you and I."

"Of course." Roxas says. Selphie sweeps past them, the skirts of her dress floating in the air around her. They resume walking, waiting until her footsteps had vanished from their ears before speaking. "Enjoyed that, did you?" Maleek grins.

"Immensely." Roxas pats Maleek's arm with his free hand, their fingers still interlocked. "Though now it would seem you have dug your own grave. Now you must pretend to _like_ me, or else everything will be ruined."

"It's nice to see we share the same sense of humor." Maleek says. "Perhaps you and I will become dear friends, and Axel will be left to rot."

Roxas' smile immediately falls as he whips his head to Maleek. Seeing this, the captain gives a small chuckle.

"I only kid. I would never wish to get in between true love. I am more inclined to associate with ladies – and possible men – of better breeding and beauty." Roxas narrows his brows into a scowl. Maleek smiles. "How vain you are."

Roxas glares. "I hate women like that. They're so desperate for the attention of men that they'd willingly betray and harm members of their own sex. And we claim men cannot think with their brans! At least men are direct about it."

"They say her father is as rich as a king." Maleek says. "I suppose that's part of why Remington is so infatuated. She arrived in a litter bigger than most peasant huts; it is carried here from her home. A distance of almost two hundred miles."

"What debauchery."

"I pity her servants."

"I pity her father!" They chuckle, and Roxas leans in enough that their shoulders touch and Maleek's bicep brushes against Roxas' cheek for a moment. He nods to the guards posted outside of another room. "Another thing I wish to speak about; who is this Tobias Cordano?"

"Ah yes, well, as we had mentioned back at Gollund, only the guards know of your true title as well as the king, myself and the members of The Thirteen. But to everyone else in this castle, you are Tobias Cordano. Your mother is dead and your father is a wealthy merchant from Lesalia. You are the sole heir to his fortune. Howeverk, you have a dark secret: you spend your nights as a jewel thief. I met you this summer after you tried to rob His Majesty while we were vacationing in Lesalia, and I saw your potential then. But your father discovered your nightly fun, and removed you from the lure of the city to a town near Gollund. When the king finally decided that The Thirteen should have a leader, I journeyed to find you, and brought you here as the King's Champion. You can fill in the gaps yourself."

Roxas raises his brows. "Really? A jewel thief?"

Maleek snorts. "It's rather charming, don't you think?"

Roxas rolls his eyes. "It's odd really. Or perhaps irony."

"What is?"

"You've given me the same name as my many times great-grandfather on my mother's side. Tobias Lockhart. He was the mortal prince who had taken his war band into the depths of the Limberry Mountains to challenge the Dark Lord Xehenort."

"You certainly know your history."

Roxas scoffs in disgust. "I despise the subject, but a little hometown studying sure beats a day of boredom."

"I promise you it just came to me." Maleek says. He brushes his thumb over Roxas, the assassin's skins feeling so much rougher than what he remembers back in Traverse Town. Callus built up from his labor in the slave mine.

"Well if I am to be of a simple reputation here, then what do people think about all my guards?"

"Oh all members of The Thirteen have guards outside their rooms, too."

"Not like they need it."

Maleek shrugs. "Eh, just a precaution set by the king. Better to be safe than sorry."

"They don't find it offensive?" Roxas asks as he looks to Maleek.

"Why would they?"

"Wouldn't _you_ find it insulting to have guards outside of your room? Thinking the king doubts your skills to protect yourself?"

"More like he cares enough about me to try and keep me safe. Don't pretend that your father never did such a thing for you. The king could teach him a few things about paranoia."

Roxas simply traces his eyes along Maleek's strong jawline. And then he gazes ahead, almost tempted to lean into Maleek's arm, but with the guards around he can't risk it. "So, where exactly is this place where you must 'tend' to me."

"Don't say things that could be taken the wrong way." Maleek grins.

"There is nothing wrong with what I just said; _you_ just simply have a filthy mind."

Chuckling again, Maleek tightens his grip on Roxas' hand ever so slightly as he increases the speed of his pace so he is ahead and leading Roxas. "Come on, this way."

Roxas can't hide his excited smile as Maleek guides him down the hallway to the right and they turn a corner into an open hallway. It has a solid wall on its right side, and an open left side revealing an inner garden. It beams with life of chirping birds and butterflies fluttering around the multitude of colorful flowers. There are more thin columns with connecting arches and a black tendril-designed railing in between.

It leads them straight out to ebony black door. When Maleek opens the door, it is three steps before a curtain of green vines hangs over an open archway in a spilling cascade. Flowers dot the vines, their heavy heads lolling sleepily amid lush green foliage.

Parting the vines with one hand, Maleek ushers Roxas first, and they pass through the archway and into a circular room. Countless crimson buds climb the iron-gate perimeters, their interlacing boughs and vines thick enough to for a living wall between the interior of the room and whatever lay without.

The vines and flowers commandeered the domed ceiling as well, though the boys can detect the mesh of tree limbs and the hint of blue light through one of the thinner sections. Gazing upward, Roxas thought there must be thousands of the flowers, maybe even hundreds of thousands – every single bud the same deep bloodred hue. In addition to the climbing roses, long-stemmed roses grew along the base of the trellised wall, their blooms blending in with all the others.

Their overpowering fragrance, like the smell from a shattered bottle of perfume, filled their nostrils with every breath, making Roxas light-headed. A carpet of ruby petals covers the circular marble floor, while several open archways line the curved wall, all of them leading out into what appeared to be rose-lined tunnels.

At the center of the room, stood a fountain. High above the brass statue's head and arcing veil, a blanket of roses twined with the decorative domed ceiling, the vines braided with the scrolling wrought-iron bars. A breeze enters through the gaps between flowers and metal, sending a cascade of petals raining down. The roses seem to watch them like thousands of spectators as they pass, their delicate heads bobbing in their wake.

The air is fresh and cool, slightly damp as Roxas can see dew drops on the petals. Maleek has released Roxas' hand and the assassin natural wanders close to the fountain, running with crystal clear water, small coy fish swimming around and a couple lily pads floating about.

"This is incredible." Roxas breathes as he tilts his head up and starts to rotate into a circle.

"Yeah, and this is just the greenhouse and garden. The castle has a game park, but they're only a sight to behold in the summer. With autumn now rolling in, we can only enjoy the colors of the leaves, for their limited time." Maleek says, his hands tucked in his pockets.

The roses are glorious. Without having to ask, Roxas simply starts his direction down a corridor and Maleek follows, whistling to himself.

The tunnels are the only thing that seems slightly dark compared to the domed ceiling and Roxas can see also weeping willow trees, birch trees speckled along certain walls, trees and bushes with fruits, and sections where the floor becomes dirt and the smell of fresh herbs wafts into Roxas' nose. Parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, basil. Benches come up here and there, set under some of the trees, posted next to more ponds, and all throughout there is row after row of sumptuous blooms, in lush pink, sunset orange, and even pale blue.

Brushing his fingers delicately along the soft flowers, Roxas giggles, actually giggles as a beautiful white butterfly flutters around the bush, and hovers around Roxas' hand. When he stands up straight and holds out his fingers, the butterfly circles around, before softly landing on the tip of Roxas' middle finger.

Roxas laughs with an exhale as he carefully brings his hand closer until he can see the yellow-outlined spots on the butterfly's wings. It flaps them slowly, but doesn't take off. Looking over his shoulder and notions Maleek to come over and the captain leans smiles as he sees the insect sitting perfectly still on the assassin's finger.

"You know they say it's good luck if a butterfly lands on you." Maleek smiles.

Roxas looks at Maleek and then feels the butterfly lift. He giggles more as the insect flutters close to his nose, touching the tip of his nose before fluttering off deeper into the garden.

"So," Roxas sighs. "I assume you brought me here for some reason?"

"Why would you think that? Can't I just do something nice for a friend?" Maleek grins.

"Not with that impish grin. It's making me nervous."

The captain's grin widens. "Well they do say that rose petals _are_ soft enough, though they tend to get everywhere." Roxas simply gives him an annoyed look, only accompanied by a small smile to ease the tension. "Well, there is a reason as to why I brought you here. It is quiet, and secluded, but –" his throat bobbles as he swallows. "– I wanted to ask about what had happened. Not just while I was gone, but afterwards."

Roxas' shoulders relax and his face softens into sadness. "It's not exactly something I like to remember." He says softly.

"Of course I don't want to make you uncomfortable. You can tell me no, and we shall resume the 'tour'." Maleek says. "It's really just so that I know, but in all honesty, the thought of who betrayed you and did this to you . . ."

He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. Really Maleek just wanted the information so that he could hunt down Roxas' betrayer and make him pay. Slowly. Make him endure the pain that Roxas had been put through, and only that would be a small fraction of the justice that would be served. He can't change what happened, and truly, it's Roxas' business and decision on what he wants to do.

For moments too long, the sound of the fountain is all they hear.

"It's not your place." is all Roxas says.

Maleek lowers his head, but nods. "I understand."

"But," Roxas interjects. "I don't really see the point in you knowing."

Looking at the assassin, Maleek's eyes fill with relief and . . . a form of honor? Roxas gives a shy smile and Maleek motion him down one of the tunnels. They come to a smaller fountain pond surrounded by foliage and a small pergola set next to the small waterfall pooling into the pond.

Taking a seat, Roxas sighs as the shade cools his heated skin. Maleek sits next to him, removing his cape and hanging it on one of the available hooks. He leans back on his hands and exhales. Roxas nervously fidgets with his hands and looks up to find an apple tree standing next to them.

Standing up, Roxas goes over and plucks a red and a green apple from the lowest hanging branch and walks back, handing one to Maleek. "Why thank you." The captain smiles. He takes a bite.

Roxas does the same, having to wipe his chin from the juice as it drips. "So," he says between chews. "where do you want me to begin?"

Finishing his chewing, Maleek swallows. "How about what happened while you were in Ivalice? And then we can work our way towards . . . what happened."

"Okay. Well," Roxas sighs. "After we had departed from Kingdom Hearts, we arrived in Lesalia and we were living, rather peacefully with Reno, Axel's brother."

"Ah. And how was it?

"It was fine. I mean, it is Axel's brother. But, I wasn't fine." Roxas exhales. "I guess in my own way, I turned into a drunk. I would just do nothing but lie on the roof of the mansion, or in the town, and just drink wine and eat teggya."

"What?"

" _Teggya_. It's a flatbread in Lesalia." Roxas says. "And Vanitas and the others would so some things to make me feel better, but, I just didn't have _any_ motivation." Roxas traces the long scar on his palm. "Before we left, I made an oath to Ventus, my friend that I . . . I had killed. On his grave, I promised him that I would never kill anyone else in revenge or injustice. But it was harder than it was. It was like I had nothing to do."

"How long did this last?"

Roxas shrugs. "I don't know. I didn't keep track, but apparently it was going on for nearly the first month we were in Lesalia. I was so concerned with Axel, who was stuck in a coma at the time, and still, I guess not mentally right because of what my mom had done to me."

"How did you get out of it?"

"Honestly, I don't think I did." Roxas stares at the red apple with two bites in it. Closing his eyes and sighing, he turns to Maleek. Even he can't decipher what emotion lies behind those deep eyes. "For a long while, I couldn't. I felt nothing at all. I would have let myself die – except I . . . couldn't bring myself to. That would mean leaving Axel; and then when he woke up, he would've had no one . . ." Roxas trails off as he clears his throat. Staring back to his hands, Roxas starts to spin the thin gold band around his ring finger. "Reno had offered to train me, and at first, I didn't want to. I didn't want anything to do with my inner Elven warrior, not after what I had experienced. But everyone said that the only reason I feared it, was because of my lack of control over it."

"At that point, I had hoped that my own " _gifts_ " would get me killed, and then I could see Ventus again." Sparing a quick glance, Roxas can see there is no judgment in Maleek's eyes. "Reno and I would go on little jobs, but when we investigated this one case at the Zeltennian castle for the king, we had discovered a Heartless there."

Maleek's eyes widen. "Really? I remember reports coming in with creatures of a similar description, but I didn't think it was true. I mean I haven't seen anything since you and Zexion summoned one at the glass castle."

"Yes, there were conspiracies, or rather theories that Kerwon's army is allying with my mother." Roxas explains. "But anyway, after battling that creature – its strength and looks still as disturbing as before – I finally decided that my Elven form would be useful in some areas. So I finally decided to say yes. But the first time we decided to train, I had a magical tantrum and burned everything within a five mile radius."

"Wait, where were you?" Maleek says, adjusting his seat so that he faces Roxas.

The assassin blinks a few times in surprise."Um, we were kind of on the outskirts of town, near the wights burrow and on the hill of the Sun Goddess's old temple."

"That was you?!" Maleek gasps, a slight smile on his lips.

"Wait, you were there?"

"Yeah, I had gotten reports about a silver fire devouring the city. And when I arrived, I just knew that it had to be magic related, but I thought it was just someone's experiment gone awry."

"How did you . . .?"

"I had to spend at least thirty minutes putting it out, my winds were nearly exhausted."

"Wait, I remember." Roxas says as he turns to face Maleek. "There was these, unnatural winds, and they put out my fire, smothered it really." Shock spreads across Roxas' face. He had known something was, unworldly about the winds, he would even understand if the winds were controlled by some other Elven warrior, but to realize it was Maleek . . . "You can control the wind?"

"Wind and ice, and only in my Elven form." Maleek smiles. "And then there was another one near a cliffside set in the woods. . ."

"That was when Sora and I were escaping some skinwalkers."

Gods, to think that Maleek was merely however far away . . . an estimated distance that Roxas could have easily ran to see him.

Picturing Maleek, standing in front of Roxas' silver fire, his winds billowing out that deep purple cape of his, his hair swaying gracefully . . .

Maleek instantly shudders, even gagging in disgust. "Uh, I hate those things. But yes, that was me. Wow, that's incredible."

"Fate, it would seem." Roxas smiles shyly. "But, yes. And then later I went on a mission in Bervenia with Riku, the silver-haired one."

"Yes."

"And I stayed at an inn, where I met this serving wench. After Riku and I had left, it turns out the case had to do with the trading of slaves."

Maleek stops mid-bite in his apple. " _Slaves_?"

"You didn't hear about this one?" Roxas grins slyly.

"I have, but I didn't think it was you. Perhaps I should've known better." Maleek chuckles.

"Yes well, this is where things get painful." Roxas swallows, he simply tosses his apple into the pond, hearing it plunk and fishes immediately swarming it. "It had taken place in Knave's Bay, and involves their prized guard gate Mencetto."

"This sounds interesting." Maleek smiles.

"We had managed to free the two hundred slaves, barely by the skin of our noses. We faced off against the Pirate Lord Rude, and his army. But . . . but Riku had gone ahead and had to destroy Mencetto. He did, but . . . I was left with Vanitas, and after the towers had been destroyed, I needed to find him. But then Vanitas . . . he . . ." Roxas' throat closes instantly, and he ends up coughing to suppress a sob from the hurt, and breathes to calm his anger.

" _He_ was the one who betrayed you?" Maleek asks, his voice laced with shock, and perhaps even anger more dangerous than Roxas'. The wind seems to shift, quickening and billowing out his cape hanging on the hook.

"Surprised me too." Roxas looks up to Maleek, his sapphire eyes deepening to a darker shade. Roxas could swim in the color and yet drown with the emotions behind them.

Maleek's hair sways elegantly in the breeze, and Roxas can almost see Maleek's power of the wind. The water suddenly seems to lighten and Roxas turns to see the surface growing paler, turning into . . . ice.

 _Wind and Ice_. Oh, the irony. The _cruel_ irony of their abilities. Fire and Ice. It's almost hurtful in a way Roxas can't explain; and yet, wouldn't want anyone else to be with him at this point.

Maleek wasn't just there to keep an eye on Roxas, not even just as Roxas' instructor – but someone with power capable of smothering Roxas' fire, someone who can easily outmatch Roxas in the fields of magic. Such power, such control.

When Maleek sighs, his shoulders drooping and averting his gaze, Roxas looks back towards the pond and watches as the ice completely melts away. Not just sloppily cracking and floating off into bits, but the entire surface, starting from the middle of the pond and rippling out, smoothly melts away into water again. The fish didn't seem to mind.

"So," the captain says. "What happened then?"

"I think you know what happened, Maleek." Roxas says softly. Still when he looks to the captain, he urges for an explanation. Roxas sighs. "He, he first attacked me with a syringe."

Maleek gives a surprised look with furrowed brows.

"The serum inside it had been laced with extra iron. He injected it into my neck and the iron prevented me from shifting into my Elven form. It was also laced with a poison of some kind, because I remember my vision went blurry with blackness around the edges." Roxas pauses and blinks as his eyes are swelling with tears. "In the end, Vanitas ended up putting shackles on me and locking me in a carriage. And then the royal guards found me, I said who I was, and the rest is history."

Maleek doesn't reply, and Roxas allows himself to indulge in the silence. His lips pressed tight, he slightly angles his hand to see the gold of the ring reflect in the light.

"I'm so sorry, Roxas." Maleek finally says.

"You don't need to me. None of this was your fault. You didn't know."

"I'm not sorry for that, I'm sorry that you had to go through all that." Maleek rephrases. "I'm surprised that you even still trust anyone. I'm surprised you're even telling me all this. I thought you'd be more . . . closed off."

Roxas distantly chuckles. "Me too. I honestly don't know how to explain it –"

"I can." Maleek interjects, and Roxas whips his head towards the captain.

"How?"

"It's your spirit. You're a fighter." Maleek gently smiles.

"You make it sound as if I am a good person of some sort."

"You are."

"Not to the people of Ivalice. Not to the people of Kingdom Hearts. To them, I am a weapon forged by Death. I am a creature of darkness and blood. I am the boy who had slaughtered _five_ hundred citizens, including children; who massacred an army of assassins and nearly killed the king and burned his home to the ground."

"That was in the past, you can't be punished for that now."

"If everyone thought that way, the world would be in shambles."

"But I can see it, Roxas. Yes, you are broken, but even with all of the odds that have been dealt to you, you're still alive. You survived Gollund Mines."

"I wouldn't say that if I end up going back."

"You won't." Maleek says, almost as if it was a promise.

A loud boom suddenly sounds, making the two blonde-haired warriors tilt their heads upwards toward the glass domed ceiling.

"It must be noon." says Maleek.

"Time passes by quickly when recollecting painful memories." Roxas says as he leans further forward, resting his arms on his knees.

"Lunch is probably ready in your chambers." Maleek says as he rises from the seat. He takes his cape and clasps it around his shoulders again.

"Are you eating too? I'm starved."

He glances at the assassin, his smile fading. "I have important work to do. Like prepare a company of men for the king to send out to Galtea."

Roxas sighs as he stands, stretching his feet and his arms.

"The last thing I can do is escort you to your chambers." Maleek says. And he lifts his arm for Roxas to link.

Roxas chuckles and takes the captain's arm in his own. They begin their trek out of the greenhouse.

"You know, it sounded as if there were smaller stories than your main, summary." Maleek smiles.

"And I can guarantee they are just as interesting." His cheeks flush red as he turns his head towards the captain and speaks, "Can I expect further visits from you?"

"Depends on what hours rest in your favor." Maleek teases.

They chuckle, and Maleek lifts his arm links with Roxas' a bit higher. Roxas nods to the guards outside his chambers as they stop. Roxas faces Maleek. "I'm starved. Will you be coming after your meeting?"

"This was all the time I could afford today, I'm afraid."

Roxas opens the door, but looks at him. The dimple upon his cheek deepens as a smile spreads once more.

"What?" Roxas asks. Something smells delicious inside his chambers, and his stomach grumbles.

Maleek shakes his head. "Kingdom Heart's Assassin." He chuckles and begins walking back down the hall. "You should rest." he calls over his shoulder. "The meeting with The Thirteen is tomorrow. And even if you're still as fantastic as you claim to be, you're going to need every moment of sleep you can get."

Though he rolls his eyes and slams the door, Roxas finds himself humming throughout his meal.


	32. Chapter 6 (Part Two)

Roxas feels as if he's barely closed his eyes when a hand ruffles his hair. Roxas groans, wincing as the drapes are thrown back to welcome the morning sun.

"Wake up." Not surprisingly, it is Maleek.

Roxas shimmies beneath the blankets, pulling them over his head, but Maleek grabs the covers and throws them to the floor. Roxas' nightgown is wrapped around his thighs. Roxas shivers.

"It's cold." he moans, holding his knees to his body. He doesn't care that he has only a few months to become the leader of the Thirteen – he _needs_ sleep. It would have been nice if the King of Valendia had considered springing him from Gollund earlier so he could have _some_ time to regain his strength; how long has he known of Roxas' imprisonment anyway?

"Get up." Maleek rips the pillow from beneath Roxas' head with a chuckle. "Now you're wasting my time." If he notices how much skin Roxas is showing, he doesn't react.

Grumbling, Roxas slithers to the edge of the bed, dangling a hand over the edge to touch the floor. "Fetch my slippers," Roxas mumbles. "The floor's like ice."

Maleek chuckles, and Roxas ignores him as he gets to his feet. He staggers and slouches into the dining room, where an enormous breakfast lies on the table. Maleek jerks his chin towards the food. "Eat up. We meet The Thirteen in an hour."

Whatever nerves Roxas feels, he keeps them hidden from Maleek as he gives an exaggerated sigh and collapses into a chair at the head of the table with the grace of a large beast. Roxas scans the table. Not surprisingly, there are no knives. Roxas stabs his fork into a piece of sausage.

Maleek walks over and around the table towards the porcelain tea kettle painted with blue designs of a lotus flower. He pours himself a cup, adding a couple tablespoons of honey. After filling a platter with a muffin and a couple slices of fruit, Maleek takes a seat next to Roxas.

"So why, might I ask, are you so tired?"

Roxas finishes gulping down the rest of his milk and wipes his mouth on a napkin. "I was up until four reading." he says. Maleek leans back, looking towards Roxas' bed where, on the end table are two fair-sized stacks of books. There must've been seven in one, ten in the next.

Maleek shakes his head in disbelief. "I feel like if anyone just gives you plenty of books to read, you would be happy living in a cardboard box."

Roxas gives him a simpering smile and takes a bite of ham. "Careful with your words, captain. Not even books could make Gollund worth tolerating." He can't help but chuckle as Maleek's eyes widen and his mouth opens ready with apologies, but Roxas holds up his hand to cease. "It's fine. I only joke."

"Good to see you're getting your sense of humor back. I didn't think assassins had a sense of humor."

"You speak as if you _weren't_ part of the Faceless." Roxas spoons porridge into his mouth, finds it bland, and scoop four heaping mounds of brown sugar into the grey mass.

Maleek finishes his first cup of tea and is already pouring his second serving into the cup. He reaches for the gravy boat filled with honey. "If I say I was undercover, will you treat me with more courtesy?" He waves a hand. "Don't answer that."

"So wait, was that story you told back at the mansion, even real?" Roxas suddenly asks.

Maleek pauses as he was about to take another sip. He slowly lowers the cup to the platter. "I didn't think you would remember that."

"How could I not? Back then it meant something to me." Roxas says softly. "It made me view as a different man. Different from the others I've known around _my_ guild."

The one corner of Maleek's mouth turns upwards. "Uh, it was all true, just modified." He clears his throat. "I did free women from an abusive brothel and gutted the owner. But the only detail that's different is that I wasn't part of a legit army party. I was on my own, and this was far, far before I even joined up with the King."

"Oh," Roxas answers. With that he gives a simple shrug of his shoulders.

Something about Maleek's story being true is . . . comforting. Since everything around Roxas has been tainted with lies and deception, to have a little truth is refreshing.

Unreasonably, Roxas starts to examine Maleek's black clothes. "Don't you ever wear normal clothing?"

With that, Maleek simply gives him an amused glare before pushing back his chair. "Hurry up. You need to get dressed." Is all he says. The Thirteen awaits.

Suddenly not hungry, Roxas pushes away his bowl of porridge. "I thought you said we had an hour."

"Yes, but time can be wasted easily from trying to make you look presentable." Maleek barely finishes the sentence when he singlehandedly catches an apple flying at him. He chuckles and gives it a big bite for emphasis.

Roxas is still sitting at the table, pouting. "Just what sort of activities might I expect at the meeting today? So I can dress accordingly, of course."

"I don't know – frankly I don't even think you'll be doing more than just speaking. Unless _that_ will even render you helpless."

"You're going to make me lose all of my apples." Roxas smiles through grit teeth as he tosses another apple up and down in his hand, readying to throw it at Maleek.

Maleek takes another nonchalant bite of his apple, drumming the pommel of his sword with his fingers before calling to a servant as Roxas walks into his bedroom. Behind him, Maleek speaks to the servant girl. "Dress him in pants and a shirt – something loose, nothing frilly or revealing, and bring a cloak." The girl disappears into the dressing room. Roxas follows after her, unceremoniously stripping down to his undergarment and enjoying it far too much when Maleek's cheeks reddened before he turns away.

When Roxas meets the girl in the dressing room, he stops when he sees a headless mannequin tucked away by the three-paneled mirror.

Roxas' eyes widen and his eyebrows grow high as he approaches it.

It wears the suit that Reno had made for him. Roxas had worn it when they went to the Zeltennian castle, and when he trained with Reno at the Sun Goddess's temple, when he saved Sora from those skinwalkers. He wore it when he was captured.

The entire thing looks brand new. Whatever kinks he had made in it from battle was refreshed and polished. Roxas approaches the mannequin, hearing the servant girl trifling through the clothes behind him. The armor has been stripped of every weapon that was concealed within it. He takes the sleeve between his fingers, feeling the fabric.

Why would they . . .

Footsteps sound behind him and Roxas turns to see Maleek leaning in the doorway. Maleek's eyes flick form the mannequin to the assassin and merely gives a raise of eyebrows.

"How did you get this?" Roxas asks softly, the servant girl pausing for a moment, only to realize it does not concern her and resumes her work.

"When you were captured, I told you, they confiscated everything you had. And they gave a majority of your belongings to the king." Maleek explains. "This was one of them. The craftsmanship seemed to catch the tailor's attention and seemed too good to simply ship back."

"Truthfully I find it odd that the king kept so many of my things."

"Well, you are a special case." Maleek smiles. Roxas turns to him, and that charm prevents Roxas from rolling his eyes. "We're actually looking to modify it."

Roxas shrugs. "That's fine. I just hope I'll be able to fit in it again." Looking at the waist, he can tell that his current form is so much thinner than the suit. The sleeves even would hang so loosely from Roxas' lack of muscle. Gods, has he really lost that much weight?

"Get ready." Maleek says, pointing towards the servant girl who stand with her hands folded.

A few minutes later, Roxas frowns at himself as he hurries after the captain to the entryway of Roxas' massive chamber. Oblivion and Oathkeeper slap against his thighs. "I look ridiculous! These pants are absurd and this shirt is awful."

"Stop whining. No one gives a damn about your clothes." He opens the door to the hall, the guards outside instantly at attention. "Besides, you can take them off at the barracks. I'm sure everyone will be thrilled to see your undergarments." Roxas swears violently under his breath, pulling his green velvet cloak tight around himself, and trails after Maleek.

Maleek leads them through the halls, still freezing with the morning chill, and they enter the barracks. Guards in various states of armor salute them. An open doorway reveals a large mess hall, where many of the guards are just sitting down for breakfast.

Finally, Maleek stops somewhere on the ground floor. The giant rectangular room they enter is the size of a Grand Ballroom. Lined with pillars that support a mezzanine, the floor is checkered black-and-white tile, and the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that make up one entire wall are open, the gossamer curtains blowing in the chilly breeze that drifts in from the garden.

Maleek leads Roxas onto a wide veranda overhanging the river. As they walk, Roxas turns his head to the captain to witness Maleek shift into his Elven form. His features sharpen and his ears shrink slightly before stretching out into sharp points poking through his curtain of hair. He is tense enough to suggest that he is scenting and hearing things Roxas cannot, but he offers no warning. The waterfall beyond the palace roars, though not loud enough to drown out conversation.

Across the veranda sits King Sephiroth on his throne of stone. Sitting next to him, is his beautiful and immortal wife. Rydia, Queen of Valendia. Queen of the Elves.

Roxas' feet nearly stop dead as if they were trapped in stone. The blood rushes from his head. He forces himself to take a breath. She hasn't noticed them yet, as she speaks with Sephiroth; and when she smiles, she reveals sharp little canines. Her leafy-green hair shimmers and is smoothly brushed out, the ends tickling her collarbone.

She is almost fearsome in her perfection, utterly still, eternal and calm and radiating ancient grace. Her long fingers moon-white and folded in her lap of her violet gown, a white barn owl perched on the back of her chair. She doesn't bother with a crown, and Roxas supposes she doesn't need one. Every creature on earth will know who she is – what she is – even if they are blind and deaf. Rydia, the face of a thousand legends . . . and dreams. Epics and poems and songs written about her, so many some even believed he is just a myth. But here is the dream made flesh.

She should be in ethereal glen, surrounded by bobbing will-o'-the-wisps and maidens dancing to lutes and harps, reading the wheeling stars like they are poetry.

With his slowed steps, Maleek has stopped and turned back towards Roxas. "Roxas." He whispers softly.

"Is that the Queen?" Roxas stupidly asks, but it would seem his common sense has left his mind.

"Yes, it is. Did you think you wouldn't see her?"

Roxas feels like fainting.

Despite the heaviness flooding his arms, Roxas suddenly grips Maleek's arm with his fingers as tight as a vise. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I thought you were smart enough to think ahead and prepare for this." Maleek retorts. "Why are you so nervous?"

Nauseated and regretting eating his breakfast, Roxas looks out the window that line the wall. The earth is far, far below – far, far below. He doesn't want to be here. The Thirteen can be damned.

Roxas has a terrible headache around his left temple. Everything is sickly and frail. They are so high up, so dangerously high . . . Maleek stops before crossing the veranda. "You're pale."

He has difficulty keeping focus on Maleek's face as he breathes in and out, in and out.

"Roxas," the assassin blinks, his cheeks burning. Maleek's features soften as he takes Roxas face in his big hands. "They are just people. But people you should treat with the respect their rank demands." He begins walking with Roxas again, slower. "This meeting is only to remind you if why you're here, and what you're to do, and what you stand to gain. You're not on trial. You will not be tested today."

Roxas feels Maleek's hand intertwine with his, their fingers locking together. Not even caring, Roxas walks closer to Maleek for their arms to touch.

As they approach, sprawled on either side of the throne are twin wolves, one black and one white, monitoring their approach with cunning golden eyes. That owl perched on Rydia's chair – _Elven or true beast_? – is watching Roxas, too. Its talons are curled around the back of the chair, digging into the wood. Then there are ten other men in the room, either concealed in whatever available shadows there are, or simply leaning against the white pillars, their faces etched in boredom.

Finally, the King and Queen of Valendia turn their heads towards the two approaching blond-haired warriors. Rydia's eyes widen, and suddenly Roxas is flooded with self-consciousness. Still, he resist the urge to adjust his clothes.

The captain stops in the open space before the throne, and Roxas halts with him. Roxas pulls his gaze forward, taking in the crowd that fills the room. Stiffly, knowing that many eyes are upon him, Roxas drops into a low bow, his cloak whispering.

He finds his legs weak when Maleek puts a hand on his back to motion him to rise. King Sephiroth wears a red-and-gold jacket, his silver hair brushed and shining. The absence of dirt and three weeks' worth of hard travel has a noticeable effect on his smooth face. An expression of surprise crosses Sephiroth's features when he beholds Roxas in his finery, but it quickly melts into a wry grin as he looks towards the wolves seated beside the throne. Roxas might have returned it, had he not been so focusing so much on keeping his hands form shaking.

The king speaks at last. "Roxas," His name falls smoothly forth from the king's lips. "Welcome. I presume you're finding your stay, pleasing?"

Roxas bows low. "It's more than I could have imagined. I was surprised, even. To grant me such a room, I deserve no better than a simple servant's cot."

The King's eyebrows raise and he smiles widely. "By the Gods!" he laughs. He turns to Maleek. "You have trained him well already, Captain!"

Roxas is unable to keep a hint of a smile from his lips. Sephiroth's demeanor is definitely different than what Roxas had expected. He would have thought that he would be cold and distant, a mimicry of himself . . . maybe even his father, at least back when things were different. But so far he has differed from Roxas' usual assumptions.

"There!" Sephiroth says. "A reaction – thank the gods I've amused him." He glances at the queen, who also is chuckling; covering her mouth daintily with her smooth hand. "I only joke, Roxas. You will soon come to learn that things are rather . . . different in this castle."

"I would only hope it doesn't border the line of freelance." says Roxas.

"Well the castle is still standing, isn't it?" Sephiroth smiles. "But I know you didn't come here for idle chatter. We have introductions to get to, and I know you're itching to get to know your new friends."

"Let's not jump to conclusions." Roxas mumbles.

Still smiling, Sephiroth snaps his fingers, and the wolves rise to their feet, shifting in flashes of light into the most beautiful men Roxas has ever beheld. Warriors from the size of them, from the lethal grace with which they moved as they step down from the dais; one light and one dark, but stunning – perfect.

"Roxas Skyes, meet Cecil Harvey and Kain Highwind." King Sephiroth introduces. "They are brothers, and two members of The Thirteen."

Cecil is young, in his twenties in mortal years. He wears blue and white armor with dark spikes on the knees and pauldrons, and a brown cloak with blue stripes around his strong column of a neck. He has shoulder-length white hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and a tinge of purple on his lips. The tips of his Elven ears poke through his hair and strapped to his waist is an ominous looking sword, the entire thing blacker than night. Roxas knows that sword. He's heard enough rumors of The Thirteen to know the names of some their weapons.

Deathbringer is its name.

Atop its hilt perches a wyvern, open-mouthed and screaming. None that came before that broad blade lives to see another day. It can inflict death upon a single hit.

Kain seems just as handsome, even with the majority of his head covered by the helmet he wears in the shape of a dragon's head. His features look strong and sharp. He wears dark purple armor with a dragon motif, sharp spikes extend out of his armor on his shoulders, elbows and calves, to give it an even more draconian look, and accented with a variety of elaborate patterns and designs in blue and white. A long red sash fluttering from the back of his helmet.

In his left hand, he holds the Holy Lance. The weapon is as tall as the man, taller from its head to its stump.

Cecil approaches Roxas, and the assassin resists the urge to step back. Compared to just these two men alone, Roxas feels so weak and feeble as he had looked in Gollund Mines. He feels like a twig in a room full of rocks.

He is tall enough that Roxas has to tilt his head up to look at him. The Elven warrior extends his hand out, and it looks big enough to wrap around Roxas' neck and choke him out. But it stops in between the space of Cecil to Roxas, and he says. "It's nice to finally put a face to the world's most notorious assassin." He purrs.

Looking up to the Elven warrior, Roxas sees a genuine, kind smile on Cecil's face. Roxas returns the gesture and takes the man's hand. It's as callus and hard as it looks. Damn, he has a strong grip, but Roxas pushes down the pain in his hand. He hopes it wasn't intentional, but it certainly was a way to compare strengths.

Releasing the man's hand, Roxas leans his head to peer around Cecil towards Kain. Cecil turns towards him as well. "Kain . . ."

Kain removes his helmet and shakes his head, revealing long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. His face has a more severity to it than his brother. Pushing it back with his fingers, he sighs. He gazes at the assassin with a keenness that seems to disintegrate Roxas' bones. He gives no compliment, no friendly greeting. All he says is: "I thought you would be taller."

There's a dent in the air, but something about his reaction makes Roxas alive with a familiar feeling of rivalry. He wants to elicit a reaction. Some of Roxas' reports didn't sound so . . . sane, even before he had stumbled upon Axel's ship. His reports were always detailed and gruesome. He's trying to see if Roxas' will snap. But he has long since chained that monster down. Roxas squares his shoulders and lifts his chin. "Surprising, I know. Everyone thinks I'm older."

"How old _are_ you?" Kain asks.

"I'm twenty now, but I was a couple years younger when my reputation was at its highest." Roxas purrs.

Kain stares at him for a moment, his nostrils flaring trying to get a whiff of Roxas' scent. Even if he did smell his fear, Roxas' face is placid enough that it should be deemed impressive. Then he simply sighs through his nose and Roxas could have sworn he heard the warrior chuckle. "Well, I certainly hope you don't disappoint."

"As to you." Roxas dares, and then smiles when the warrior looks to him bemused.

Two others emerge from the shadows behind Cecil and Kain. The barn owl, however, stays perched on the Queen's throne. Roxas starts to rotate Axel's gold band around his ring finger. It was something he had always done back in the mines to calm himself whenever he got nervous. Sometimes even pressing it into his skin so he can feel the engraved "I Love You" against his finger.

Both of them have silver hair, long and short, and introduced themselves as Kuja and Edge Geraldine.

Kuja is a twenty-four year old – in mortal standards – with long silver hair that falls halfway down his back. In his hair he wears a large feather of the same color. He has cerulean eyes and is of medium height, light build, with a pale complexion. He wears white sleeves with a violet mantle around his shoulders. Kuja wears a white robe on the back of his legs that extends to his ankles. The robe is held up by four straps that act as a codpiece. His pants are a deeper purple than his shoulder-guards and his shoes are black with golden buckles.

Surprisingly – Roxas needing to peer closer to clarify – he could have sworn he saw . . . a tail? But the man's attire conceals it.

Edge is a young, lean man, with short, slightly spiked silver hair that exposes his pointed ears, and light-blue eyes. He sports a gray-blue and blackish armor with a gray cowl covering his mouth and a large gray cape. In the shifting of the light, the cowl appears darker blue on his torso and the armor has a golden sheen on the shoulders and waist.

Everything about him screams assassin – from the cowl around his face, to the scars that crisscross on his arms – and Roxas almost feels rejuvenated. He has two intimidating looking bladed boomerangs belted to his waist; the metal kinked and stained with washed out blood.

When Roxas meets Edge's stare, his eyebrows lift when he sees the man wink at him and flash a bright smile beneath his cowl. Roxas can already sense the man's brash and inflated ego. Still, Roxas' cheeks grow warm at the attractive man's hungry eyes.

Then one by one each warriors emerges from the shadows, trapping Roxas and Maleek as they surround them in a circle. Maleek looking bored already.

Roxas immediately forgets the names of the next four men that introduce themselves: a moderately handsome young man; a hulking brute reminding Roxas of Lexaeus; a disdainful man of average height and mortality, and a sniveling, hawk-nosed man with Elven features, his pointed canines seemingly sharpened and who claimed he had an affinity for knives. The only thing Roxas connects is that they have hair that ranges from white to silver, from long to short.

One man does stand out to him though, only because he wears robes instead of armor, and his hair is blue instead of the mixture of silver and blonde. His name is Seymour Guado.

The man is as exotically attractive as the rest, and is a tall Elf-human hybrid who has purple eyes, light blue hair with two long horn-like locks running down his back, and a large bang of hair falling over his face. His ornate robes are unlike the sets of armor the other Elven warriors wear; and it being the first thing that drew Roxas' attention to him. Being predominantly dark blue with red trimmings and a green sash, the robe above Seymour's waist is open, exposing his broad chest, and his sleeves fall to partially cover his hands. Seymour wields a staff, though he seems more proficient with magic.

Another nod and smile and Roxas returns it shyly.

Seymour's hands are oddly more pointed than a human's, but not as long as a full elf. His ears are rounded and human-like unlike the elfish ears. The veins on Seymour's face are pronounced, another trait passed from his Elven heritage. Only thing is that he seems more, human than elf. Even Roxas' men had told him how he looks like a full-blood.

He spares Roxas a nod and smile; it's the same smile that Roxas has seen many priests of his town wear to others who come to seek their blessings.

The other being a man named Laguna Loire. And he seems to be the only member with brown hair at shoulder-length dark hair in a cocoa brown, and green eyes. He wears a blue armored uniform, the helmet tucked under his arm. His entire piece is blue, with pieces of armor strapped onto it; being he has gleaming metal pauldrons, couters, vambraces and gauntlets. The blue of his pants then gets tucked into his sabatons. Slung across his back is a weapon the mixture of a sword blade with a gun action built into the hilt, the barrel running inside the length of the blade.

He approaches Roxas with a smile. "Nice to finally meet you, Roxas." When Roxas takes his hand, Laguna clasps his forearm and claps Roxas on the back – a quick, efficient greeting. "Hmm, you're a little skinner than I anticipated."

Without even thinking, Roxas snaps. "Slavery in Gollund Mines can do that to a man."

Laguna's eyebrows rise and Roxas can see Cecil, Seymour and Edge with the same expression of surprise.

The final man named Vincent Valentine. And Roxas didn't see him until he emerged from the shadows of the mezzanine, brooding and appearing cold-hearted. The lower half of his face concealed by his long red cloak that billows behind him in crimson waves.

The man is physically in his late twenties, and stands roughly six feet tall. He has crimson eyes and long black hair; the only black-haired man out of this mixture of silver, blonde and a single brunette. He wears a red bandanna with his fringe emerging over it. Vincent's most distinctive feature is his red cloak, held in place over his shoulders and lower face by several buckles. Underneath his cape Vincent's attire is black with several straps and buckles. Vincent wears a holster for a gun against his right leg, and pointed sabatons on his feet. He wears a golden gauntlet on his left arm. His weapon of choice is a three-barreled revolver.

"Vincent." is all he says to Roxas.

When the room goes quiet, signaling that introductions are over, Roxas looks around, confused. There are the four members' whose name escapes him, and then its Cecil, Kain, Kuja, Edge, Seymour, Laguna, Vincent, and Roxas.

"Wait, that makes only twelve, including myself. Where is the last member?"

He hears Maleek chuckle, then it's followed by the King's chuckle. Roxas then feels Maleek's hand pat and rub his head. It's gone before Roxas has the chance to whack at it. "Don't tell me the luxury has already dwindled your brain into a peanut."

Roxas blinks a couple times, fixing his hair, and then his eyes widen. "But I thought you were already Captain of the Guard." He says.

"I am." Maleek grins. "But I am also a member of The Thirteen; but obviously not the leader. You didn't think I'd let you have all the fun."

"But who is in charge?"

"Technically His Highness." Laguna chimes. "And he seems to be doing a good job."

King Sephiroth smiles and gives a gentle chuckle. "Well, now that we have settled that, I believe it's time we get the day started. And Roxas," the assassin whirls back to face the king. "I certainly hope you will make us proud."

Roxas bows his head and stares at his feet. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I am most appreciative."

King Sephiroth rises from his throne, Queen Rydia following and the barn owl hops onto her shoulder. "This should be an interesting handful of months."

Roxas lifts his head and feels his heart fly back against his spine and cling to his ribs as he watches the King step down and approach him. Even with the . . . friendly introductions, the members of The Thirteen put their hands to their swords.

Slowly Roxas rises and meets the King's gaze. Strangely, his heart calms when he sees the king's smooth expression. He places his hands on Roxas' shoulders, the assassin willing himself not to flinch. "Prove trustworthy, become my Champion, and wealth and glory will be yours eternal."

Roxas gives a terse nod and swallows. Queen Rydia gracefully steps down from the dais. The owl's eyes are still locked on Roxas. He doesn't know what possessed him to look at the king and ask, "Where is your advisor?"

Sephiroth doesn't even blink. "He is to depart next week for my own purposes. He will not return until Christmastide. I told him I had more important matters to attend here. And as King, he has no room to argue." Roxas nods once more, relief flooding through him.

"Now, if we're finished and if there are no questions, I will take my leave." The king says with a muffled clap of his gloved hands. "Do not forget that you are here to honor me – and my empire."

He holds out his hand and Queen Rydia takes it daintily. A hand touches Roxas' arm and he follows its direction as it gently pulls him aside out of the way of the King and Queen. Maleek and Roxas don't say anything as they strode down the hallway, quickly moving away from the throng of The Thirteen, who linger to speak with one another – probably about Roxas. With every step, steadying warmth returns. It isn't until they round a corner that Maleek lets out a deep breath and removes his hand from Roxas' back.

"Well, you managed to act civilized – for once." He says.

"But how convincing was he in his nodding and bowing!" says a cheerful voice. It is Edge, leaning against the wall. His cowl is down revealing his square chin and gleaming white teeth.

"What are you doing here?" Maleek asks.

Edge pushes off the wall. "Why, waiting for you, of course."

"We're to dine this evening."

"I was speaking to the assassin." Edge says with a roguish wink. Roxas simply gives a small smile and turns his gaze ahead. Edge takes up a place dangerously beside Roxas as they walk on. "So, you're the infamous Roxas Skyes."

Judging from the grin on his face, Roxas can already predict what it is he will say. So Roxas sharply says, "If you dare make a comment about my weight, I will ripe out your tongue before you even finish the sentence."

Both Maleek and Edge look to Roxas in surprise, and he stares right back. Edge then laughs. "My, my. Quite the firebrand when the king isn't looking. Glad to find that meeting us hasn't damaged that swagger of yours. So, what'd you think of us?"

Roxas grins. "Perhaps the king should start feeding me whatever he is giving you." When Edge continues staring at him, Roxas rolls his eyes. "If you want my honesty, men of your size aren't very fast, or very nimble. You could knock me out with once punch, probably, but you'd have to be swift enough to catch me." Roxas gives Edge a quick glance, daring him to challenge his claim, but the silver-haired assassin answers.

"Good. I thought so. And what of the others? Any potential rivals?"

"Kain seems like he would be fun to amuse." Roxas admits. "Everyone else looks pathetic." He jokes, hoping Edge can catch the joke through Roxas' serious tone.

Edge's smile grows. He sets his hand on his chest. "My goodness, I never thought I would be trounced by such a beautiful boy."

"I told you, I am twenty. I deserve to be called a man." Roxas nearly complains.

"Maybe once you gain your weight back, perhaps." Edge's eyes travel up and down Roxas body once more.

Maleek is quite, but Roxas can see the tension making Maleek's muscles rigid and then release.

"You know," Edge continues, his hands in his pockets and his bladed boomerangs clinking against the metal of his armor. "The King doesn't normally permit mortals or half-breeds into his coven. For a half-breed to enter his castle, or even his realm, he must prove himself both gifted and worthy."

Roxas looks to him, intrigued. "Half-breeds?"

"Well, that's just what the pure-blooded Elves call them. You know, those born with mortal mothers, with the fathers unaware they'd sired them."

"So, are all members of the coven pureblooded or – half-breeds?" A small flicker of disgust goes through him. The term sounds so, demeaning.

Maleek stiffens, but Edge flashes a smile. "Some us, yes. As I'm sure you've deciphered. But we prefer to call them demi-elves. Most of the gifted ones get picked up by members of the castle or are sent out to one of the many fortresses for training; by their own will of course. But for the more common offspring, the humans still aren't comfortable with us, so . . . they go to The Orient. Or to some border outposts. Most of the demi-elves that come here just wish to live among their own kind." Edge's eyes narrow on Roxas' ears. "Looks like you've got more human in you than Elf."

"Because I'm not half."

"Can you shift?" Edge asks. Maleek shoots him a warning look.

Roxas blinks at Edge, and then turns his head forward, stopping his steps. Maleek and Edge stop with him. Roxas stares at the marble tiles. Can he still shift? It's been so long, and he hasn't bothered to since Vanitas had injected him with that poison serum. It might be very painful as it had been the first time. His lack of shifting has dwindled his pain tolerance of it.

Sighing, Roxas closes his eyes, and lifts his chin. Easily, he sees that shimmering veil from before, and after a heartbeat of hesitation, he punches his way through it.

He immediately recoils, grunting as pain erupts through his body, starting from the back of his neck and traveling down through his limbs like he had been struck by lightning. He clenches his teeth, feeling his canines grow and point.

Once the pain eases, taking a few deep breaths, Roxas blinks his eyes open, immediately seeing the crystal clear clarity of his Elven vision. The smells of the castle flood his senses, the food, the water, the products used to clean the floor, even the smell of Edge's and Maleek's cologne.

Roxas lifts his chin again, facing Edge and Maleek, both of their eyes are wide, mouths agape. He grins, exposing his pointed canines. He brings his hand up and feels the point of his ears. Roxas chuckles, relieved. He can still shift.

"Wow," Edge breathes, impressed. Maleek still stares, but his lips spread into a smile.

"Can the demi-elves shift?" Roxas asks as he resumes his steps. The two men follow.

"Oh no," says Edge. "None of them can. If they could, they would probably be here or in the Deist Isles with the other 'gifted' offspring."

"Do any of you have – gifts?" Roxas asks. "I heard your continent always has more wielders than any other in Ivalice, and more variety."

"You mean magic?" Edge says, his mouth quirking to the side. "Oh, defiantly. As you saw, the twins – Cecil and Kain – they have it. And Seymour is our little master at it. And thank the _gods_ none of our members' magic is boring. We have a powerful bunch." Edge chuckles.

And yet it doesn't seem like they use much of it besides simply shifting. But Seymour could be someone to talk to . . .

"But still," Edge chatters on. "I wish we had someone with more exciting or rare abilities. Like shape-shifting into whatever form they want, or controlling fire" – Roxas' stomach clenches at that – "or oracular sight. Mr. Captain over here can manipulate ice and wind, but that's it."

Roxas looks to Maleek who smiles, but his cheeks turn red from his bashfulness.

"We did have a female wander in with raw magic two years ago – she could do anything she wanted, summon any element, and she was here a week before she decided to go out to one of the fortresses and we never heard from her again. A shame – she was pretty, too. We thought she would've been a great addition to The Thirteen." says Edge. "But it's the same here as it is everywhere else: a few people with a pathetic trace of elemental powers that are really only fun for farmers."

Maleek clicks his tongue. "You should pray the gods don't strike you with lightning for speaking like that." Edge groans, rolling his eyes, but Maleek continues his lecture, gesturing to the air. "Those powers were gifts given to us by them long ago – gifts we needed to survive – and were passed down through the generations. Of course they' be aligned with the elements, and of course they'd be watered down after so long."

Roxas glances around, his ears twitching for sounds of pursuit. He contemplates mentioning that some believed the gods had also bred with ancient humans and given them magic that way, but . . . that would involve more talking than necessary.

He tilts his head to the side. "So, how old are some of the members anyway?"

"I'll put it this way: we're one of the few Elves who have been around since the king was fifteen. And when he was fifteen, the oldest people living here had known all of us since we were younglings, so . . . I'd say we're very old."

"You all grew up with the king?" Roxas says as he turns his gaze to Maleek.

"Well, I didn't. I was only newly recruited. Imagine the displacement I felt." He grins sadly.

"At least we don't act like it." Edge says, poking Maleek in the ribs with his elbow. He looks to Roxas. "Do you plan on staying in that form while you're here?"

Roxas gives a sultry grin. He then shifts back into his mortal form, swallowing down the grunt of pain. He blinks. "Maybe if I like you enough, you'll see it again. I wouldn't want you guys to think I cheated."

Edge gives a hungry grin, wetting his lips. "Well, I must take my leave, now." He then shifts on his feet and bows to Maleek, then faces Roxas. Roxas watches with raised brows as Edge lifts the assassin's hand to his lips. His mouth is soft and smooth upon Roxas' skin, and the kiss sends a red-hot line of fire up through Roxas' arm that singes his cheeks. Roxas fights against the urge to step back. Or smack him. "Until our next meeting, Roxas Skyes." He says with a charming smile. Roxas gives a bow that could've been mistaken as a curtsy.

"I must be getting back to the barracks as well. I have to deal with a few papers," Maleek says as Edge strode off, whistling to himself, his hands in his pockets. "but expect me back at dawn so we can start your training."

Roxas looks around and realizes that the three have them had walked all the way back towards his room. The golden, ornate lion snarls at them with the doorknocker in his mouth. "Oh, okay." He replies.

"Listen, you did really well." Maleek says as he steps closer to Roxas, taking the assassin's hands. "I'm honestly proud of you."

"I have manners. It's not like the mines completely dehumanized me." Although his rampage through the mines as well as his secret writing lesson in the library could've suggested otherwise.

Maleek gives a breath of a chuckle. "I know." He releases Roxas' hand and steps back. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, and remember, don't stay up to late. Not like the characters of your books are going anywhere."

Roxas smacks Maleek's arm and watches as the captain brushes past him. He watches his muscles shift beneath his tunic. Stepping into his room, Roxas spares the guards a nod before he closes the door behind him.

The following dawn, Roxas' bedroom door opens, and a familiar stalking gait echoes through the room. Maleek has returned as promised, but stops short when he finds the assassin dangling from the beam of the balcony doorway, repeatedly hoisting himself up to touch his chin to the wooden bar. Sweat soaks his exposed chest and runs in rivulets down his pale skin. His arms quiver as he lifts himself again.

He's been exercising for an hour already.

Though he might pretend to be better than everyone else, there is no reason to train like it. His ribs protrude out, still disturbingly distinct under his skin. Even if every repetition makes his body scream for him to stop, he keeps going. Even Maleek worries it will be too much already. But the assassin isn't _that_ out of shape – after all, his pickax in the mines had been heavy. And it defiantly had nothing to do with meeting the fellow members of The Thirteen.

He already had an edge on them. He just needs it to be a bit sharper.

The assassin doesn't pause his exercising as he smiles at the captain, panting through grit teeth. To his surprise, the captain smiles back.


	33. Chapter 7 (Part Two)

Roxas' lungs burn and his legs are leaden, but he keeps running, keeps his position in the middle of the pack of The Thirteen. King Sephiroth, along with three dozen other guards, follow them around the game pack on horseback. Daring himself to look around, Roxas casts his gaze at the men that surround him. No one led the pack, everyone stayed together like a herd of horses.

But what troubles Roxas is the fact that he seems to be the only one feeling fatigue, for obvious reasons. Everyone else barely looked like they were out of breath, nimble as stags bounding through the woods. Even Maleek seems to have the same bored expression, suggesting he wants it to be over not because he is tired, but because he has better things to do.

Oh how he missed those days; his time in the mines practically annihilated his physical superiority. He thinks back to how he had been the leader of the pack when he and his men were training with the Faceless. He led the group by ten paces, _without_ his Elven form.

A tickle of temptation spreads through his head. Could he . . . . Would they notice . . .? Probably. Especially Edge; after Roxas foolishly boasted to the man that he didn't need his Elven form, if he finds Roxas used it to trounce the men, he won't let Roxas live it down.

The sound of crunching leaves and labored breathing fills the warm autumn air, and Roxas keeps his gaze on the damp and gleaming dark hair of Vincent in front of him. One step after another, one breath in, one breath out. Breathe – he has to remember to keep breathing.

Together, like a flock of birds, they turn a corner back towards the step after another, never slowing down. While Roxas didn't need to win this race to prove he was better – he was better without any kind of validation that the king could give him! – But still, he needs to show the men that he is not to be doubted, not to be underestimated. He misses a breath, and his knees wobble, but Roxas keeps upright.

And then, knowing he will pay for it _dearly_ , Roxas increases his speed.

Faster, faster – _faster_!

With each step, the built bodies of the Elven warriors pass him by. Then he breaks past the pack through the sunlight, and he is running alone. Roxas can feel Maleek's eyes on him. Roxas' doesn't bother smiling. He is in pain. His head spins, and he would have cursed at the stitch that lances his side and he had he had any breath to do so.

He doesn't dare look behind him, but with each step he takes, he counts. And he is ten paces ahead. Quickly, Roxas starts to wonder if it was worth it. Stars flash before his eyes, swarming in his vision.

The trees part, revealing the field that lies between the game park and the stables. The open fields surround him in an explosion of space and grass and blue sky. The end of the path. The light of the field grows brighter and brighter as it approaches. His hearing grows muted, and the thumping of the Elven warriors' feet start to sound like horse hooves.

He has to keep breathing. Keep breathing. Only a few yards.

Then, he is through the trees.

He runs a few more feet, slowing his pace to cool down. No one cheers for him, not that he cares. It is all he can do to keep from sinking to his knees, but he makes his legs, slow, slow, slow, makes his feet walk, makes himself take breath after breath as the stars continue bursting before his eyes.

The thumping of the Elven warriors soon approaches him, echoing heavily in his head. They all have even breaths, huffing, some barely have even breaking a sweat. None of them say anything to Roxas as they pass him.

"Good." Sephiroth says, reining his horse and surveying the men. "Get water. We've got more training after this."

Through the spots in his vision, Roxas sees Maleek stop and push his hair back from his sweaty forehead. Roxas' feet move of their own accord towards him, then past, back to the woods. "Where are you going?"

"I just need to stretch my legs more." Roxas lies, doing his best to look scatterbrained. "Just give me a minute." Without waiting for his response, Roxas enters the trees. He hears a couple of the warriors sighs and chuckle. He steps into the cover of the bushes, stumbling as the world becomes dark and light and tilted.

Roxas had barely sunk to his knees when he vomits.

He heaves and heaves until he has nothing left inside. On trembling limbs, he grapples onto a nearby tree and hauls himself upright again.

There is regret, but underneath it, past his aching limbs, past the drool dripping from his lips, Roxas feels pride. He had made it, and he did it without shifting. That has to count for something to the Elven men. A mere _mortal_ boy, gravely skinny and small, had gotten ten paces ahead and had _beaten_ them.

Roxas chuckles, but ends up burping and vomiting again. It's just bile and drool, and Roxas spits it to the forest ground.

Keeping himself upright, he finds Maleek standing across the path, watching him with purse lips.

Roxas wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist and says nothing to him as he exits the woods.

When they reenter the castle, Roxas manages to slip away long enough to grab a few mint leaves and some extra water from the servants who saw his pale complexion and probably smelt his sweaty clothes before he even entered the room. Roxas gave them a thank you for not only giving him the water, but also for not wrinkling their noses in disgust at his odor. He would have gone up to his room, but with his legs still wobbling like gelatin, he wouldn't have made it past the first flight of stairs.

Remembering the trek to the training room, thanks to Maleek's personal tour of the castle, when he spares a nod to the guards outside, he pushes open the doors and finds himself in a room filled to the brim with weapons.

At the center of the room is a sparring ring, outlined in black tape, and then around it are several obstacle courses, many racks of weapons: swords, sword-breakers, axes, bows, pikes, hunting daggers, maces, spears, throwing knives, wooden staves. While Roxas generally prefers the stealth of a dagger, he is familiar with every weapon here.

The other warriors are already scattered throughout the room, sparring with one another. The guards are casually looking around the room, even chatting with one another. Off to the side, Roxas sees Kain come out from the shadows of the mezzanine. He turns his head, sensing Roxas' gaze and simply gives a snort.

It would be so, so easy. _So_ easy to whirl and grab him by the neck and slam his face into the ground.

His heart beats rapidly as he runs his finger across the blades and handles of each. He finds himself torn between the hunting daggers and a lovely rapier with an ornate bell-guard. The sword whines as he draws it from the stand and holds it in his hands. It is a good blade – strong, smooth, light. They won't let him have a butter knife on his table, but they give him access to _this_?

Over in the corner he finds a spiked chakram with a black chain attached to it. Walking over it, Roxas takes the weapon in his hands. He remembers Axel had a form of affinity for the weapon when Roxas had demonstrated to him how to use it.

Taking the weapon in his hand, Roxas feels along the chain to get an estimate of how long it is. He remembers his father training him with all sorts of weapons, including a chain by itself so he can understand how anything can be a weapon.

"Interesting weapon choice." says a voice behind him.

Roxas looks to find Cecil in a normal white tunic and dark blue pants. It's almost abnormal to see him in such regular attire, being all donned in his exquisite armor and deadly weapons. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail, his cheeks already red and sweat already speckling on his forehead. Still, Deathbringer hangs from his belt.

"Always fun to try something new." Roxas says as he feels the weight of the weapon.

"You in the need of a partner?" Cecil asks.

Roxas raises an eyebrow in surprise. "Um. . ."

This couldn't have anything to do with him trouncing them during the run, is it? Unless he saw Roxas vomit later on and this is just pity.

Looking around, Maleek is already occupied with a Salmon Ladder, swinging himself up; his torso is bare and sweat trickle down his spine. Roxas turns back to Cecil, who gives a smile, one hand on his hip.

"Yes. Thank you."

Cecil smiles and escorts Roxas towards the sparring ring. Kain and Vincent are whacking at one another with wooden staves as they approach. The ring is a divided down the middle, and then another line dividing one of the halves. Roxas and Cecil take their place in the whole side and Cecil draws Deathbringer. The blade whines and whistles as he spins it between his hands.

Swallowing down his fear, Roxas remembers the weapon in his hand and grips it, feeling the metal against his palm. Cecil lowers his sword and gestures a hand to Roxas.

Permission to practice. Roxas takes a step back, and wills his body to remember how to use the chakram and chain. Roxas releases his grip on the chakram and starts to spin it. The weapon whistles as it starts to spin faster and faster. He twirls in a circle, from side to side; letting the weapon lunge out and yank back with grace like a ribbon dancer.

Finally, when Roxas catches the weapon, he looks to Cecil. The strong Elven warrior merely gives a smile before he spins Deathbringer once again and launches. He swings the blade and Roxas immediately leaps up, flipping over the blade as he whistles past his ear. When he lands, he spins up out of the way of the next swing and swipes the chakram at Cecil. The Elven warrior leans back as the tip of one of the spikes whizzes by his nose, and the chain wraps around the pommel of his sword and Roxas pulls, stepping on the chain.

Cecil circles his wrists, loosening the chain and yanks the blade out of the chain. He steps back, tossing the sword from side to side. Roxas takes the tip of his toe and manipulates the chakram up and strike at Cecil like a viper. The Elven warrior blocks it goes to slash at Roxas, but the assassin flips back, his heels connecting with Cecil's chin. He isn't the only one who felt pain; his chin was so hard Roxas thought he had broken his ankle. But the assassin yanks the chain and the chakram comes hurling back, and he catches it with one hand.

Cecil smiles, wiping his chin. "Good one." He grins.

"Glad you enjoyed it." Roxas says, returning the grin deviously.

He tugs at the chain again, and starts to spin the weapon again on his right side. He and Cecil circle one another, the chamber seemingly growing quiet. Roxas is fully aware of some of the Thirteen's attention on their sparring, but truthfully, he doesn't care. He doesn't want to beat Cecil, it's just training.

Roxas carefully brings the spinning chakram forward and lifts his foot. The chakram wraps around once before he tugs back and the weapon is sent flying forward. It wraps around the hilt of Deathbringer, but Cecil is ready in that he grabs the chain and yanks.

Roxas is hurled forward, but manages to roll out of the way of Cecil's foot as it had intended on crashing through his skull. Quickly, Roxas gives a kick to Cecil's jaw, hitting on point, but when Cecil goes to slash above Roxas' head, when he ducks, Cecil's knee is there, jamming into his nose.

Warmth trickles down Roxas' chin, and he doesn't have time to wipe it away before Cecil is upon him, swinging and slashing his blade with deadly precision. Roxas dances out of it left and right, bending and flipping as if his bones are made of water.

He still has a grip on the chain and when Cecil is backing him in, Roxas yanks and the chakram narrowly misses Cecil's head, several wisps of his silver hair being sliced off. Taking his seconds of distraction, Roxas lunges, punching Cecil left and right before going for the cheap shot to the groin with his foot. Cecil grunts and as he falls to his knees, Roxas takes the chain and quickly wraps it around Cecil's wrist.

He then summons all his strength and lifts him. Lifts Cecil in the air and whipping him around once before sending him slamming into the marble floor. He can hear the tiles crack under Cecil's impact.

Roxas unwinds the chain from Cecil's wrist and catches it back in his hand, the chain clinking. He approaches Cecil, panicking for a moment, until he sees the warrior shift and prop himself on his elbows. As Roxas nears the warrior, he feels the floor slant, and realizes a small crater had been created. There are wide eyes around them, and Roxas wills himself not to look to surprised himself. So all he asks is, "Are you okay?"

He really wouldn't want to be kicked off the Thirteen from overkill in training. Thankfully, Cecil simply pushes his hair back and stands. He cracks his neck as if the impact was nothing more than a softball hitting him.

 _His pain tolerance must be incredible_. Roxas thinks.

Cecil cracks his neck and gives a closed-lip smile at Roxas, but behind it is a genuine respect. "Impressive. You certainly live up to your expectation." Cecil says, his voice low.

"Are you okay?" Roxas asks without realizing. His cheeks turn pink, and he could've sworn Cecil's did too.

"Yes," Cecil clears his throat. "I am. And thank you. You're a good partner. Would you wish to train again?"

Roxas looks up and smiles. "Yes, I would like that."

Cecil chuckles. "Excellent. If that's you with just a chakram, I'm excited to see you with blades in your hands."

"I can guarantee it would be quite the show." Roxas smiles.

"Until next time, Roxas." Cecil smiles.

As he watches the warrior walk over to his brother, Roxas can't help but smiles, fully aware of the other members still staring at him.

As Roxas goes to return the chakram, he sees Maleek staring at him, a grin on his lips. Roxas simply blinks slowly before turning away and grabs a bow and walks over to the archery station.

Its shooting range has a variety of standard bull's-eyes and human silhouettes. One of the guards stands behind a control panel, pressing colorful buttons for at least ten seconds before cueing Roxas to step out onto the range.

All the dummies move side to side in simple motions while others bend backwards vertically until they're backs are flat on the floor. Roxas goes to stand at the middle of the range, on a platform that presses down from his weight. Immediately a dummies springs up and he loads an arrow and skewers the dummy straight through the heart.

It slams to the ground and another springs up. He quickly reloads and shoots again. Another dummy slides out from behind a black barrier and a dagger shoots from another metal contraption. Roxas spins out of the way and shoots at the dummy's head. It slides back and one at the opposite end slides out. Once it's shot in the head, he aims for another up higher. This goes on for sixty seconds, nearly ninety dummies each with an arrow in the heart, neck or head before a bell chimes and steam hisses throughout the range. All dummies retreat to their places and the nameless member walks off slinging his bow to his back.

He looks all around at the station, amazed. Steam hisses out from one of the large pipes that snake behind some of the contraptions that move the dummies.

"Mechanics." Maleek says, startling Roxas. He turns around to find the captain wearing his loose, black sleeveless shirt. It sticks close to him from sweat. His arm muscles very distinct. "His Highness spent the better part of his years learning about them. Built that entire range himself."

"Wow." Roxas mumbles in genuine surprise.

He gazes at the contraptions, unknowingly following Maleek as they head towards one of the weight lifting stations.

No one else bothers to speak to Roxas.

By that afternoon, a vicious rainstorm arrived, and Maleek permits Roxas to walk around the castle with him after they'd finished their training with the Thirteen to for the day. Though they spoke so little, Roxas was glad to be out of his rooms, and dressed in one of his new outfits – a lovely lilac silk tunic with pale white lace accents and pearl beading. What normally would be girlish and feminine, when Roxas emerged from his dressing room, the tunic accompanied by grey pants and black knee-high boots, Maleek's eyebrows rose and he blinked, astonished.

From his training with Cecil, the blood from his nose has since stopped, but there was still a little bruise forming around his nostrils and around a corner of his mouth.

But as they round the corner, they nearly collided with Laguna Loire. The assassin would've grimaced, but he forgets all about Laguna as his eyes fall upon the man's companion. It is a Galtea man.

He is stunning, long and lean, each of his features perfectly formed and smooth. His loose white tunic contrasts with his dark brown skin, and a three-plated gold torque covers much of his chest and neck, and wears a gold drop earring with a tassel motif. He sports bead-adorned dreadlocks at the back of an otherwise short-cropped haircut. Bracelets of ivory and gold glimmer around his wrists, and his feet are sandaled beneath matching anklets. A thin circlet comprising dangling gold jewels crowns his head. He has to male guards with him, armed to the teeth with an assortment of curved Galtean daggers and swords, both of them studying Maleek and Roxas closely – weighing the threat.

The Galtea man is a prince.

"Oh, hey Maleek!" Laguna says, and bows. Beside him, a short man dressed in the red-and-black garb of a councilman bows to the pair.

The Galtea prince stands perfectly still, his brown eyes wary as he takes in Roxas and his companion. Roxas offers him a slight smile, and the prince steps closer, his guards tensing slightly. He moves with an easy grace.

Laguna gestures to the man, purposely exposed happiness written across his handsome face. "This is His Royal Highness the Prince Kiros Seagill of Galtea."

Maleek bows low. The prince nods, barely a dip of his chin. Roxas knew the name – he had often heard the Galtea slaves in Gollund boast of Kiros' handsomeness and bravery. Kiros, the Light of Galtea, who would save them from their plight. Kiros, who might someday pose a threat to the King of Kerwon's rule over his home country when he ascends the throne. Kiros, they whispered, who smuggled information and supplies to the rebel groups hiding in Galtea. But what is he doing here?

"And Roxas Skyes, Kingdom Heart's Assassin." Laguna adds.

Maleek shoots Laguna a look of anger and surprise. The guards step closer, readying their weapons. It's a miracle they didn't chop Roxas' head off right there. Nor bother to push the prince behind them at the sound of Roxas' name. Roxas has made more than one trip to Galtea to assassinate members of their court, and even murdering the prince's grandfather.

At the memory of that, Roxas' heart suddenly pounds in his chest with nervousness. He doesn't want to be in any way, threatening or insulting to the prince.

Roxas drops into the lowest bow he can give without falling and says in the Galtea tongue, "Welcome to Valendia, Your Highness."

Prince Kiros smiles slowly, and the others gape. The councilmen beams, wiping the sweat from his brow. Why hadn't they sent Kiros with the King, or even Maleek? Why is the prince herded around by Laguna Loire?

"Thank you." The prince replies, his voice low.

"I imagine you've had a long journey," Roxas continues in Galtea. "Have you arrived today, Your Highness?"

Kiros' guards exchange glances, and Kiros' brow rises slightly. Not too many northerners speak their language. "Yes, and the queen sent _this_ one" – Kiros jerks his head at Laguna – "to bring me around with that sweating worm of a man as well." The prince narrows his eyes at the small councilman, who wrings his hands and dabs his forehead with a handkerchief. Perhaps he knew what sort of threat Kiros poses; but why bring him to the castle?

Roxas runs his tongue across his teeth, trying not to laugh. "He seems a bit nervous." He has to change the subject or else he will indeed laugh. "What do you make of the castle?"

"It's honestly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Kiros says, scanning the ceiling as if he can see through the stone and into the glass domed greenhouse above. "I didn't expect it to be so open and bright with life."

Maleek watches them, somewhat disbelievingly.

"Hey!" Laguna pipes with a smile. "I might not have understood a single word of what you just said, but I know what you're talking about me." Roxas tries not to roll his eyes – he had forgotten the man was there.

"We," the prince says, struggling for the word in the common language. "were talking with the weather."

" _About_ the weather." Laguna corrects.

"Watch your mouth," Roxas snaps before he can think.

Laguna gives Roxas a confused expression, pursing his lips. "If he is here to learn our ways, I should correct him so he doesn't sound foolish."

Here to learn their ways, or for something else entirely? The faces of the prince and his guards are unreadable. Kiros then turns to Roxas, extending out his hand; his fingertips brushing Roxas' forearm. "It's quite alright," Kiros says in Galtea. "We are actually close friends."

"How?" Roxas asks, looking between Laguna and Kiros, and the prince chuckles.

"We were part of the same group when we were both in training. However, my duties called me back home, and I'm afraid I've had little contact with him since. So this is our form of reunion. But I'm afraid my years of schooling has caused me to lose my touch of the common tongue." Kiros says, all in Galtea.

"Oh."

"Your Highness." Maleek says, stepping forward, a subtle movement to keep himself between Roxas and Kiros. "Are you having a tour of the castle?"

Kiros chews on the words and then looks to Roxas, brows high – as if he's expecting a translation by now. A smile tugs on the corners of Roxas' lips. No wonder the councilman is sweating so profusely. Kiros is a force to be reckoned with. Roxas translates Maleek's question with ease.

"If you consider this coco-haired buffoon a tour guide." Kiros replies.

Roxas turns to Maleek. "He says yes."

"I never knew so many words to mean yes." Laguna says as he scratches his head with his finger. Roxas' bites the corner of his mouth.

 _How did someone so proper and regal befriend someone so lightheaded and dense_?

Maleek takes another step towards Kiros – effectively blocking Roxas' path to Laguna. Unneeded. So long as Laguna is in good terms with the prince, Roxas won't harm him. Maleek puts a hand on his chest. "Your Highness, I am the Captain of the Royal Guard. Please allow me to escort you."

Roxas translates again, and the prince nods. "Get rid of him." he says flatly to Roxas, and then waves a hand towards the councilman. "I don't care for his putrid odor."

"You're dismissed." Roxas says to the councilman, flashing a bright smile. "The prince tires of your company."

The man startle. "But the queen –"

"If that is His Highness's wish, then it will be granted." Maleek interrupts. Though his features are a mas of protocol, Roxas could've sworn he glimpsed a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Roxas wants to hug him. He doesn't bother to nod farewell to the councilman as the prince and Laguna joins them and they strode down the hall, leaving the sweating and nor fuming man behind.

"I don't suppose you'll be letting us in on this conversation?" Laguna says after they've walked a few steps.

"Are all of your acquaintances like him, Your Highness?" Roxas says to the prince in Galtea.

"Like, Laguna? Oh no, I must surround myself with as much intelligence as I do idiocy."

Roxas laughs. The prince examines the assassin, and Roxas knew he is taking in his clothes, his gait, his posture – everything Roxas himself had observed about the prince already. "But you – you're not like them. How do you know how to speak Galtea so well?"

"I" – Roxas thinks of a lie – "studied it for several years."

"You use the intonation of the peasants. Is that taught in your books?"

"I knew a Galtea woman who taught it to me."

"A slave of yours?" his tons sharpens, and Maleek and Laguna flicks their eyes towards them.

"No," Roxas says hurriedly. "I don't believe in keeping slaves." Something twists in Roxas' gut at the thought of all those slaves he had left behind in Gollund Mines, all those people doomed to suffer until they die. Just because he left Gollund doesn't mean Gollund had ceased to be.

Kiros' voice is soft. "Then you are very unlike the others."

Roxas can only manage a nod to the prince as they turn their attention to the hall ahead. Servants dart past, eyes wide when they behold the prince and his guards. After a moment of silence, Roxas squares his shoulders. "Why are you in Valendia, if I might ask?" he adds: "Your Highness."

"You don't need to bother calling me that." The prince toys with one of gold bangles around his wrist. "I came at the request of my father, the King of Galtea, to learn your language and customs so I might better serve Galtea and my people."

Given what he'd heard of Kiros, Roxas doesn't think that is the entirety of it, but he smiles politely as he says, "How long will you remain in Valendia?"

"Until my father sends for me again." He stops playing with his bracelets as he frowns at the rain pounding the windows. "If I'm fortunate, I'll only be here until spring. Unless my father decides that a woman – or elf – from Valendia might make me a good consort, and then I'll be here until _that_ matter is settled." Seeing the annoyance in the prince's eyes, Roxas feels a shred of pity for whatever woman his father chose.

A thought strikes him, and Roxas tilts his head to the side. "Whom would you marry? The King has no heir." It is prying, and a bit impertinent – and Roxas regrets the questions the second it comes out.

But Kiros clicks his tongue. "I've thought about that a thousand times. It's a shame isn't it; my heart goes out to them. I wouldn't mind marrying and heir to the king, but I'd be damned if I marry someone of his court. I'm not sure if you have met her, but there was this woman by the name of . . . Selphie?"

Roxas immediately scoffs in annoyance. "Oh yes, I have met her."

The prince chuckles. "If that's what all the ladies-in-waiting are like, and what they have to offer, I'm deeply disappointed." He glances sidelong at the assassin, giving him another head-to-toe examination. Roxas catches the prince's eyes lingering on the few scars on his hands. "So, where are you from in Kingdom Hearts, Roxas?"

Roxas clears his throat and casually hides his hands in the pockets of his pants. "I am from Twilight Town – the home of King Mickey. Despite our numerous trades and goods, we're mostly known for the large ember clock tower in our city's Square. That and I suppose the odor, it smells terrible." That isn't a lie. Every time he went down to the docks of Twilight Town for a mission, the reek of fish made him gag if he got too near.

The prince chuckles. "Lesalia smells terrible. Too many people. At least in Valendia, the sun burns up everything. And King Sephiroth's palace smells like lotus blossoms, just like my father's palace on the river."

Maleek clears his throat beside them, obviously tired of being excluded from the conversation, and Roxas grins at him and Laguna. "Don't be so glum," he says in the common tongue. "We must cater to the prince."

"Stop your gloating." Maleek says, his brows low. He puts a hand on the hilt of his sword, and Kiros' guards step closer to him. Though Maleek might be Captain of the Guard, Roxas doesn't doubt for a moment that Kiros' guards would put him down if he became a threat. "We're only bringing him back to the king's council. I'm going to have a word with them allowing a simple councilman to show him around."

"Hey I'm here too, you know." Laguna chimes. "And frankly I'm a little hurt with the doubt in your voice, Maleek."

"Even if you two were once friends, his time in Galtea has made him lose touch with the common tongue." Maleek says as he looks to Laguna. "You're lucky Roxas was here to translate for you."

"Do you hunt?" Kiros interrupts in Galtea.

"Me?" the prince nods. "Oh – er, no. Well, not anymore." Roxas says, then switches back to Galtea. "I'm more of a reader now."

Kiros looks towards the rain-splattered window. "Most of your books were burned five years ago, when Kerwon marched in. It didn't make a difference if the books were about magic" – his voice quiets at the word, even though Maleek and Laguna couldn't understand them – "or history. They just burned the whole libraries, along with the museums and universities . . ."

A familiar ache fills Roxas' chest. He nods. "Galtea wasn't the only country where that happened."

Something cold and bitter glitters in Kiros' eyes. "Now, most of the books we receive are from Kerwon – books in a language I can barely understand. That's also what I must learn while I'm here. There are so many things!" he stomps his foot, his jewelry clinking. "And I hate these shoes! And this miserable tunic! I don't care if it's Galtea silk and I'm supposed to be representing my kingdom – the material's been itching me ever since I put it on!" He stares at Roxas' elaborate attire. "How can you stand wearing that enormous thing?"

Roxas picks at the pearls on his shirt. "It's very thin, actually. I've barely stopped shivering since I left my chambers."

"Well at least I'm not the only one suffering." Kiros says. Roxas stops before a door and informs six sentries posted outside to watch the men and the prince's guards. "What's he doing?"

"Returning you to the council and ensuring that Selphie doesn't lead you around again."

Kiros' shoulder slumps slightly. "I've only been here for a day, and I wish to leave." He lets out a long sight through his nose, and again turns to the window, as if he can see all the way back to Galtea. Suddenly he grabs Roxas' hand and squeezes it. His fingers are surprisingly callused – in all the spots where the hilt of a sword or dagger might rest. Roxas' eyes met with those of the prince and he drops his hand.

 _Perhaps the rumors are correct about his association with the rebels in Galtea_ . . .

"Will you keep me company while I'm here, Sir Roxas?"

Roxas blinks at the request – feeling, despite himself, honored. "Of course. When I'm available, I'll gladly attend you."

"I have attendants. I wish for someone to talk to."

Roxas couldn't help it – he beams. Maleek enters into the hallway once more, and bows to the prince. "The council would like to see you." Roxas translates.

Kiros lets out a low grown, but thanks Maleek before turning to Roxas. "I'm glad we met, Sir Roxas." Kiros says, his eyes bright. "Peace be with you."

"And with you." The assassin murmurs, watching him leave.

Roxas never had many friends, and the ones he had often disappointed him, or ended up dead. Sometimes with devastating consequences, as he'd learned when he thrust his blade in Ventus' heart, or in Demyx' stomach, or watched Lexaeus get tortured and beheaded. Other times it was girls or boys with their own agenda and power of their own. Girls and boys who would do _anything_ to get what they wanted. Roxas shivers.

But as the door closes behind the ivory cape of the Galtea prince, Roxas wonders if he'd been wrong.

When they return to Roxas' chambers, there was another banquet set out on the dining table, and Maleek watches as Roxas eats his lunch. The assassin's eyes dart from one plate to the next. Roxas had immediately stripped from his outfit upon entering his rooms, and now sits in a rose-and-jade dressing robe that suits him well.

"You're awfully quiet today." Roxas says, his mouth full of food. Will he never stop eating? He eats more than anyone Maleek knew – including his guards. Roxas has had multiple helpings of every course at each meal. "Enthralled by Prince Kiros?" The words are barely distinguishable from Roxas' chewing.

"That headstrong man?" Maleek immediately regrets the remark as Roxas' eyes narrow. A lecture is coming on, and Maleek is in no mood to be patronized. He has more important things on his mind. Before departing this morning, King Sephiroth's advisor hadn't taken any of the guards Maleek had suggested he bring on his journey, and refused to say where he was going, or to accept his offer of accompaniment.

Not to mention the fact that a few of the royal hounds had gone missing, only to have their half-eaten remains found in the northern wing of the palace. _That_ is worrisome; who would do such a gruesome thing?

"And what's wrong with headstrong men?" Roxas presses. "Other than the fact that they're not wooden-headed ninnies who can only open their mouths to give orders and gossip?"

"I just prefer a certain type."

Thankfully, that was the right thing to say, because Roxas bats his eyelashes. "And what type of person is that?"

"Not an arrogant assassin." Maleek grins.

Roxas playfully pouts. "Suppose I wasn't an assassin. Would you fancy me then?"

"No."

"Would you prefer _Tobias Cordano_?"

"Don't be a fool." Maleek takes a bite of his bread. Roxas watches him, his head angled. Maleek knew that Roxas was only playfully teasing, but it still tugs Maleek in an uncomfortable way.

Roxas shrugs, and takes a bite from an apple.

Roxas already had a lover, a mate. And the reminder is always there on his ring finger, embellished in gold. As long as he wears that ring, Maleek doesn't even want to bother with what Roxas considers, casual flirting.

Because, _gods_ , he _wants_ this boy.

He is a haughty, vulgar utterly impertinent assassin. And yet, there is something girlish about him too. Oh, he can't stand Roxas' contradiction!

He sometimes feels that Roxas looks at him the way a cat regards a mouse. He just wonder show long it would take for Roxas to pounce.

"You're staring, Captain."

Maleek almost apologizes, but stops. He hasn't slept well since they'd taken Roxas out of Gollund.

"You have food in your teeth." Maleek says. Roxas picks it out with a sharp nail and turns his head to the window. The rain slides down the glass. Is he looking at the rain, or something beyond?

Maleek sips from his goblet. Despite Roxas' arrogance, he is clever, and relatively kind, and charming. But where is that writhing darkness? Why didn't it show itself? Maleek had only seen glimmers of it in the past, and even when he thought he was hallucinating as he was staring at Roxas. There is something great and deadly concealed within Roxas, and Maleek doesn't like it.

He'd be ready – when the time came, he'd be waiting. He just wonders which one of them will survive.


	34. Chapter 8 (Part Two)

The long, red carpet muffles his footsteps as Reno walks through the hallways of his exquisite mansion in Lesalia. His hair is pulled back into its usual ponytail, his bangs falling over his eyes. Dressed in a casual white tunic and black trousers, he prepares himself as he comes upon the bedroom of his brother.

Even with just getting three feet of the door, the odor hits him. He braces himself in front of the door, knowing it will be foul, then pushes inside. Immediately, empty alcohol bottles roll along the floor, stopping whenever they hit one of the many piles of dirty clothes scattered throughout Axel's once clean room.

Over the months the odor of unwashed clothes, boiled cabbage and burned meat, and liquor and vomit have intermingled into a stench that brings tears to Reno's eyes. He wade through the litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass and bones to where he knew he would find his brother.

His room had once been clean, everything in its place. His desk had papers scattered on it with a bookshelf stuffed with scrolls and books, but that was nothing compared to the clothes scattered about and the horrid smell. Reno can't even find Axel's desk anymore.

And there is he, lying in his bed, shirtless, his red spiky hair fanning around his pillow. The tattoos on his arm shine in the limited sunlight peeking through his curtains. Reno makes his way towards the window, throwing open the draperies and forcing a window open, inhaling deep breathes of the clean air outside.

Axel's snoring stops for a moment, and he groans as he turns in his bed. "Get up, Axel." Reno demands, because he's learned over the months that there is no subtle way to wake his brother; especially when he's hungover.

Groaning again, his twin brother uses his forearm to block the sunlight. As Axel shifts, his hand knocks into another bottle of alcohol on his end table, making it topple to the floor and shatter.

Reno growls. "God dammit, Axel."

He rounds the bed and yanks the sheets off of his brother, exposing him to the chill of the autumn air still freshening the room. Axel shivers and curls into himself. "It's cold."

"Then change and come down for breakfast." Reno says, his voice cold and stern.

"What time is it?" Axel asks, his voice muffled as he speaks through his arm covering his eyes.

"Time to get up." Reno says, shaking Axel this time. "Now come on. Sora made your favorite."

At that, Axel removes his arm and blinks until his eyes are adjusted to the sunlight. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he rubs his eyes. His hair is like a wild red fluff around his head, and his once emerald eyes have lost their luster.

Gods, he looks so different, and it's like Reno hasn't noticed it until now.

Axel's spiky red hair was long before, at least down to his collarbone, but now it's past that, reaching in between his shoulders. He now usually needs a tie to keep it tame and out of his face. Above his reverse teardrop tattoos that are poised under his eyes, there are purple bags that have formed, evidence of what little sleep he has had. His skin has lost its tone from his lack of being outside, and now he looks as pale as snow.

Reno's shoulders slump as a familiar pity crawls over him. His brother just hasn't been the same since his lover and deadly assassin, Roxas Skyes had been captured over a year ago.

A pain clenches Reno's chest as he sighs. The moment Axel had found out, he knew his brother had changed.

Vanitas and Riku, two of Roxas' closest companions and kills-for-hire, had come back home to Lesalia after the trio of assassins had set out to botch a trading of slaves between a Pirate Lord and some soft-neck merchant. They had managed to stop it, but when they got back, there were only the two assassins.

Vanitas with his ember-gold eyes and jet black hair, had looked as if he had lost an argument with a cave bear, bruises and scratches speckled his face, dried blood trailing down his neck and lip. And Riku's complete attire of cloak, tunic, boots and pants had been coated with a grey dust, scratches and cuts along his arms, legs, and face. Vanitas had told the entire group that Roxas had sent the two of them ahead to deal with the pirates, and Roxas had ended up getting captured by the royal guards.

And at that moment, Reno had seen his brother change. His face turned pale and he immediately strode off up to Roxas' bedroom in the mansion. Sora, Riku, Vanitas, and Reno found him rummaging through Roxas' dresser.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before any of them heard Axel speak, but it was a whisper of denial of the capture of his lover. And then when he beheld Vanitas in the reflection of the mirror of Roxas' vanity, he snapped.

He charged for Vanitas, punching the assassin clean in the jaw, and Reno was already upon his brother, ordering him to stop. Axel had broken down. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Just as everyone else had when the news had settled over the mansions like a dark raincloud that refuses to leave.

They had all believed Vanitas when he spoke of his story, but Reno knew the truth.

He and Vanitas knew that this had to happen, but now, even the assassin himself is having doubts, and his behavior unfortunately has been no different from Axel's apart from that he kept clean away from the heavy liquor.

But Reno knew it was for the best, and that is what he had told Vanitas before they had left. Roxas needed to get to the king.

The entire mansion seemed different. The feel, the vibe, the atmosphere. Everything was more tense or wan, everyone was quiet and withdrawn. Had Reno known that this would happen, he would've done something different. Even Artemis, Roxas' most trusted dog, seemed different.

Days passed after the news was out there, and Reno had attended to Axel whenever he needed him, telling himself that it is all Axel needs, but now . . . when Axel had turned to drinking to wallow away his problems, Reno had had enough. He understood a bottle or two during a week, but when it had shifted to everyday, Reno had to evacuate all of his wine just to keep his brother sober for an hour.

However, despite his plan, having the boy being sent to the death camp of Gollund, that was what he didn't expect. He had hoped the guards would take him to the king directly. But it seemed he was out of continent on business having to do with the rebel forces in Galtea.

Reno had tried everything he could to try and get Roxas to see the king, but all of his suggestions and request had been ignored or denied.

Reno knew Cloud was doing everything he could over in Kingdom Hearts to try and free his son. But Reno knew it wouldn't be any good. After six months, Reno had stopped with his progress reports, or rather they stopped coming to him once Roxas' fate had been sealed.

And Axel . . . Axel had resorted to going out every night to the local pub and drowning his sorrows in bottle after bottle of hard liquor.

He has become someone Roxas would hate, and Reno had said that to him one day when they had gotten into an argument over Axel's drinking. And with those words, Axel had gone quiet, and his eyes went blank. Reno watched the color drain from them as Axel slouched against end board of his bed frame and then slide down the floor, his current bottle of liquor slipping from his grip and shattering upon the floor.

Gods, his brother is a gods-damn mess, and it's all his fault. It hurt Reno, defiantly. Seeing his brother dressed like this – knowing it was all his fault, it makes him feel hollow. But he still doesn't know how he'd ever look Axel in the eye.

Reno walks over to his brother's closet, the biggest pile of clothes located around the drawers and the legs of the furniture, he manages to find a clean tunic and pants and drapes them over the doors, nowhere else in the room is clean to set them down.

"Get dressed and come downstairs." Reno says flatly. He might sound cruel, but as he keeps telling himself, it's for the best.

He leaves Axel's door wide open, allowing the air to circulate through the room. His next stop will be Vanitas' room before he goes back to see if his brother had followed his orders. At least he knew Vanitas' room would be clean.

But the only thing is, the boy has stopped talking.

It was five days after Axel had struck Vanitas did he suddenly go quiet. Reno knew guilt had consumed the boy when he entered Vanitas' room and found him lying in bed. But he wasn't asleep. He was simply on his side, staring out the window, his eyes distant.

Reno has tried coaxing and assuring Vanitas that they did what they had to do, but all Vanitas would do is just stare at him with cold, dead eyes. Vanitas didn't get out of bed that day.

Or the next.

Or the next.

As Reno continues down the hall, he sees Artemis lying outside of Vanitas' closed doors to his room. She is whining with her head on her paws. As Reno is about to ask the dog what is wrong, the doors suddenly opens from the inside, and out steps Sora dressed in a white tunic with brown tassels tied at the base of his chest. Artemis gets to her feet, her tail wagging slowly. He gently shuts the door, and looks up to Reno. His eyes are sorrowful and he sighs through his nose.

"Any changes in his behavior?" Reno asks.

"He got out of bed." Sora says, his usual jovial face is grim.

"And?"

"And now he's sitting in a chair in front of the fire. It's the same as yesterday: he gets out of bed, sits in the chair all day, then gets back into bed at sundown."

"Is he still not speaking?"

Sora shakes his head, keeping his voice low. "He just sits there and stares at the fire. Won't speak. Still barely touches his food." Sora's eyes grow warier as he looks at the door as if he can see Vanitas inside.

The boy is handling the whole thing with Roxas surprisingly well, but that is probably because he has Riku. The two have grown exceptionally close over the past year and a half the crew has been living in the mansion. They were there for one another, and while Riku seems to be doing better than Vanitas or Axel, he still has that seed of sadness that keeps him from enjoying many things whether outside or inside the mansion.

Right now, Sora seems to be the only thing that gets either the assassin or the pirate to do anything, as he was probably the one person Roxas had treasured the most, maybe even more so than Axel, as Sora reminded Roxas of Ventus.

Ventus was Axel's first-mate back when he was sailing along the oceans. Reno had met the boy a couple times; he was jubilant and sweet. So when Reno saw Roxas in person, compared to the letters his brother had sent, Reno was astonished. He had ended up being killed by Roxas through the order of his father, back when they were still a cruel and widely feared Guild.

Sora was like Ventus in so many ways, so it was no wonder why Roxas was so attracted to him, and so determined to protect him from anything.

"You should try talking to him." Sora says.

"You know I have tried, Sora."

"Try _harder_." Sora urges. He then starts to walk past Reno, on his way to journey into Axel's room of dirtied clothes.

Artemis is still standing there, slightly whining. Reno looks down at her, and she sits her ears erect. Reno pets the dog behind her ears. "Maybe you can help me." He says to the dog.

Grabbing the brass knob of the door, Reno slowly opens the door and peers inside. When the crack got big enough, Artemis shoves her way inside despite Reno's hissing. Still the dog enters the room and immediately trots over to the chair where Vanitas had to be sitting. Reno couldn't see as the chair seemed unoccupied, until a hand reached out and stroked Artemis's head.

Reno sighs as he pushes the door open fully and enters the room. The feeling was immensely different, the silence so thick is was suffocating.

Quiet.

Everything around him stands really still and really . . . _quiet_.

Reno approaches the chair, the floorboards creaking under his socked feet being the loudest thing in his ears.

Vanitas only started sitting in the chair because Sora had come in yesterday and complained about the dirty sheets. He might have told Sora to go to hell, but he knew that talking would require effort that he just didn't have anymore.

As the sun finishes coming up, Vanitas sits before the fire, staring into the glowing embers that grow darker as the world brightens.

Time is shifting and ebbing around him. Some days have passed in an hour, others a lifetime.

"Hey," Reno says quietly. As Reno approaches, his throat tightens when he sees the blue and purple bruising around Vanitas' neck, and the scars stretching over on Vanitas' wrists.

That's right . . .

After six months of betraying Roxas, Reno had come into Vanitas' room to check on him and found the boy in the bathroom, taking the blade of his dagger to his wrist. The two of them had fought viciously, Riku and Luxord coming in to pry the dagger out of Vanitas' hands, and Sora had calmed Vanitas down and bandaged his wrists. The day after, Zack had to call more reinforcements when he found Vanitas trying to hang himself with his bed sheets.

Now, all sharp items have been removed from Vanitas' room, his clothes are delivered to him, and he is watched as he changes. And then, the day came when he just gave up.

He had bathed once, long enough to wash his hair, and Sora had watched the whole time to make sure Vanitas didn't drown himself instead.

Maybe . . . maybe Vanitas is worse than Axel. As he was the one who last saw Roxas, and that encounter, Roxas' face was masked with fear and hurt and betrayal. And Vanitas had to witness that . . .

The assassin doesn't say anything to him, not that Reno expects him to. So he takes a seat in the next available armchair. Artemis whines, nudging Vanitas' hand, and when he doesn't respond, she then spins in a couple circles before lying down at his feet.

Vanitas runs a thumb over the armrest of the chair. He has no intentions of ending his life anymore. Not like he'd be welcomed into the afterlife anyway. He has condemned himself to Hell the moment he beheld Roxas' eyes – full of fear, hurt and sorrow – and slammed the wagon door shut in his face.

The shadows in the room grow, and the embers seem to breathe as Vanitas watches them. Breathing with him, pulsing with each heartbeat.

In these days of silence and sleep, he had realized one thing: he had destroyed everyone's lives.

He had followed Reno's plan, but what neither of them expected was for Roxas to be sent out to Gollund Mines . . . a slave camp. Where life expectancy was no more than a month.

Roxas could be dead now.

The memory of his face is already blurring. Had his eyes been more turquoise blue, or ocean blue? Vanitas can't remember. And he'd never get the chance to find out.

"Sora made breakfast if you're hungry." Reno says. Nothing. Reno angles his head to try and get into Vanitas view. "Vanitas, please."

Still nothing. Only a dead stare at the fire and a slow, slow blink.

Sighing, Reno decides to leave the boy, and check up on him if he didn't come down for breakfast.

But as Reno was at the door, getting ready to close it, he hears the assassin say: "What if we were wrong?"

Reno looks to the boy, Artemis still lying at his feet, her head on her paws as if she didn't hear anything. Vanitas' legs lift and he wraps his arms around them, bringing them close to his chest and resting his chin on his knees.

"What if we were wrong?" he hears the boy repeat, his voice quiet, as if he is afraid to scare the ghosts of the house.

Reno doesn't say anything, too stunned from the boy's words. But he shakes his head as he says, "Come down if you're hungry." And then he closes the door behind him.

Vanitas had always mocked Roxas for being a drunk, but now . . .

Oh, Roxas. Now, Vanitas understands. Now he understands probably a fraction of the grief and burden that Roxas bears. He can now feel the silence inside of him, condemning his heart and muffling everything.

He now understands why Roxas was the way he was, he understands how it must've felt when he killed Ventus, and then Demyx.

But then again, maybe he doesn't. Roxas had experienced this times a thousand. And if Vanitas can barely stand it now . . . he takes that pain and multiplies it times ten, then a hundred, and then a thousand. And then maybe, _maybe_ , he can comprehend what Roxas has been carrying with him for twenty years now.

This is _nothing_ compared to what Roxas had to experience and bear.

Vanitas grips the arms of the chair, his nails digging into the polished wood. A familiar, dark fire ripples in his gut, spreading through him, dragging him down in any abyss without end.

Axel had managed to get dressed and come down for breakfast, finding the meal simple, as Luxord and Sora had backed eggs, bread, pancakes, waffles, toast, and bowls of berries and fruits set at each end of the table. It smells incredible, smells like home, but when Axel sits at the table, seeing the lack of blond in the group reduces the sweet-tasting food into ash.

His head pounds, but he drinks some orange juice and take some pills that Sora had gotten from the pharmacy. The meal tasted plain, and when Axel saw Sora bringing a tray of said food up the stairs, to Vanitas' room no doubt, a pinch of jealousy poked through Axel's wall of silence. He had to get out of bed but Vanitas didn't have to?

But then again, maybe it is best he isn't down here. Ever since he delivered the news, Axel couldn't bring himself to forgive Vanitas for letting Roxas get captured. Axel still can't even stand to be in the same room as Vanitas anymore. He knew better, he should've done better. And Roxas . . . Roxas is smart, cunning, lethal. There's no way . . .

Yet looking around the table, and not seeing those beautiful eyes and blonde hair, the reality hits like a ton of bricks.

No one says much, little chatters here and there, but for the most part, everyone is quiet; feeling as if carrying on conversation indicates that they've moved on, and no one wants anyone else to think that they didn't care. It's like no one wants to move on without Roxas. And in a way, Axel is appreciative.

He brushes his now longer hair out of his face, now having it tied back by a tie Reno had given him. As he goes for another forkful of scrambled eggs, he angles his hand and finds the Celtic Knot tattoo that he and Roxas had gotten together. One of the many on Roxas now, probably. There was the flock of birds that fly across his back, the tree of life on his wrist and then that one special tattoo. The tattoo that Roxas had gotten as his start of retaliation of his father.

A flame encased in a heart, set over his own heart.

The tattoo that's supposed to symbolize his strength, his freedom and the flame that would always burn strong. Firebrand.

Together forever. Bounded by ink, thought it feels as if the connection has been severed now.

Axel drops his silverware and gets up from his seat. No one stops him as he walks away.

A flight of stairs and a couple turns of corners later and he's at the room he has not dared set foot in since he had punched Vanitas. A pang of anger still flickering in his heart at the memory of Vanitas' blood staining the carpet.

Still, it's just as much of a sanctuary as it is a torture chamber.

Opening the door to the room, Axel is immediately greeted by that familiar smell of his cologne. Everything is as it was when he had left, untouched and beginning to be covered by bits of dust. He shuts the door behind him.

How many times Reno suggested they tidy it up, but Axel had forbid anyone from coming into this room. Allowing them in seemed, intrusive. The thought of packing Roxas' belongings like any other objects, makes Axel wild with grief and rage.

Almost as wild as he'd been earlier today, when he'd walked into his own dressing room and ripped every shirt off its hangers, pulled out every pair of shoes, every pair of pants, every cloak and thrown them into the hallway.

Axel had burned the shirts that reminded him most of Roxas, the shirts he had worn when on the ship, at their meals, on the nights he had spent with Roxas in his room, and on their walks around the property. It was only when Sora came in to scold Axel about the smoke that Axle relented, allowing Sora to take whatever clothing survived and donate it. But it had been too late to stop Axel from burning the suit he'd worn the night of Roxas' birthday. The day he had finally claimed the boy as his. That jacket had burned first.

And when Axel's dressing room was empty, he shoved a bag of gold into Sora's hands and told him to go buy some new clothes. Sora had only given Axel a sad look – another thing that made Axel sick – and left.

The bed still has its sheets, the bed unmade. The curtains of the balcony sway in the soft breeze. Axel remembered he was reading the day he got the news, and hadn't bothered to close the doors.

As Axel walks through the room, he tries not to dwell too long on the memories that accompany each item he looks at. Or the lavender and dew smell that clings to everything. The light makes his headache worse, as the pills haven't kicked in yet.

Roxas would be ashamed and disgusted at what Axel has become. After a week of receiving news of Roxas' capture, a week of trifling through files and papers and books trying everything he can to get Roxas free to no avail, Axel had just decided to wallow away his failure and sorrow in hard liquor. Spending nearly every night getting drunk off his ass and buying round after round of alcohol until he is so hammered that the barmaid has to go to mansion and ask Reno to haul him out of the tavern.

He makes it over to Roxas' desk, still stacked with books and papers like the assassin had only stepped out for a moment. Underneath some maps he had taken from Axel's room, Axel finds sheets of music set for the pianoforte.

The instrument downstairs has been silent as the grave for months. Axel remembers how Roxas had wanted to play for him; Axel _wanting_ to hear the boy play for him. He remembers how Demyx had said that Roxas played absolutely beautifully. Jealousy tickles through Axel at the memory. Then Roxas had been taken away – and Axel hasn't even gone into the living room with the pianoforte once, hasn't wanted to look at the instrument, hasn't wanted to hear or make music ever again.

Axel slides aside another set map to expose more of the music. He nearly cries again.

It's for one of his favorite songs from a musical he had gone to see with Reno as a kid: " _Advent Children_." There was a piano piece that Axel adored, but could never even push himself to try and learn. The notes were complicated and elaborate. And yet Roxas . . . it looks as if he could play it easily. How long has he been wanting to play for Axel?

Roxas should be here – to help Axel with this sadness that devours his every motive and thought, to smile bashfully as Axel praises his playing.

Axel takes a seat in one of the armchairs posted in front of the fireplace. He knew the day is drifting along because of the shifting light on the wall of the bedroom. He knew the world still passes by, unaffected by the capture of a young man, unaware that he'd ever existed and breathed and loved Axel. He hated the world for continuing on. If he left this room, this house, maybe he'd never have to continue on with it.

He is not gone, and yet he is. And the world is moving on without him.

When Ventus had died, Axel had tucked him into his heart, tucked him in alongside his other beloved dead, whose names he keeps so secret he sometimes forgets them. But Roxas – Roxas won't fit.

He can't seal Roxas away like that, no when those beautiful blue eyes ringed with gold, and that angelic smile still haunt his every step, every breath.

He might never get to hear Roxas say those words again. Never get to see that half smile. Never get to hear his laugh, never get to hear him say Axel's name like it meant something special, something more than being Kingdom Heart's Assassin ever could.

Axel doesn't want to go out into a world where he doesn't exist. So he watches the light shift and change, and lets the world pass him by. The silence devours him.


	35. Chapter 9 (Part Two)

Roxas gapes at the ground. He knew these sharp, gray rocks – knew how they crunched beneath his feet, how they smelled after the rain, how they could so easily cut into his skin when he was thrown down. The rocks stretch for miles, rising into jagged, fang-like mountains that pierce the cloudy sky. In the frigid wind, he has little clothing to protect him from its stinging gusts. As he touches the dirty rags, his stomach rises in his throat. What had happened?

He pivots, shackles clanking, and takes in the desolate waste is Gollund.

He had failed, failed and been sent back here. There is no chance of escape. He had tasted freedom, come so close to it, and now –

"Maleek!" Roxas cries. " _Maleek_!"

Roxas spins around, shouting to the grey sky. It replies with a flicker of lightening. And then, everything grows darker, and in the blackness, Maleek's outline forms. It reminds Roxas of Ventus' form, outlined in gold and glowing from somewhere inside himself.

" _I'm sorry, Roxas_." The apparition says. His eyes are sorrowful and pained. " _I tried. But you failed. I give up. I'm sorry_."

Then Maleek's apparition fades, and lighting slices across the sky.

Roxas whirls, his breathing fast and tears streaming down his face. " _Axel_!"

He screams even louder as excruciating pain shoots down his back, barely heralded by the crack of the whip. He falls onto the ground, stone slicing into his raw knees.

"Get on your feet." Someone barks.

Tears sting his eyes, and the whip creaks as it rises again. He would be killed this time. He will die from the pain of it.

The whip falls, slicing into bone, reverberating through his body, making everything collapse and explode in agony, shifting his body into a graveyard, a dead –

Roxas' eyes fly open. He pants.

"Are you . . ." someone says beside him, and he jerks.

Where is he?

"It was a dream." says Maleek.

Roxas stares at him, then looks around the room, running a hand through his hair. Valendia. Valendia – that's where he is. In the marble castle of King Sephiroth.

He is sweating, and the sweat on his back feels uncomfortably like blood. He feels dizzy, nauseated, too small and too large all at once. Though his windows are shut, an odd draft from somewhere in his room kisses his face, smelling strangely of roses.

"Roxas. It was a dream." Maleek says. "I heard you screaming." He gives Roxas a shaky smile. "I thought you were being murdered."

Roxas reaches around to touch his back, beneath his nightshirt. He can feel the three ridges – and some smaller ones, but nothing, nothing –

"I was being whipped." He shakes his head to remove the memory from his mind.

"Wait, what do you mean –?" Maleek's question is cut off as Roxas lunges at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. Maleek is startled, but quickly forgets about it when he feels how much Roxas is shaking. He wraps his arm around the assassin and coos. "It was just a dream, Roxas." He rubs Roxas' back and nestles into Roxas' hair.

"Please don't give up on me." Roxas whimpers.

Maleek rubs Roxas' back and rests his cheek against the assassin's head. He coos to the assassin, for once feeling how fragile he was that night he was staring at the stars. Or perhaps how he has felt nearly his whole life.

He is about to question, when Roxas finally pulls away. "What are you doing here? It's already past dawn." Roxas crosses his arms, flushing slightly.

"Exactly, I came to tell you that training is cancelled today. We're setting up the castle for a party that the king is hosting tonight."

"Really? A form of celebration, or for the events of a holiday?"

"It's just a social gathering for the king." Maleek says. "But it will be hosted in the Grand Ballroom. I don't know if they'll be doing any decorations, though. Maybe just some tables of food and a couple flower bouquets."

"Am I invited?"

Maleek frowns. "Of course. You are part of the Thirteen."

Roxas pushes back the covers. "You've all become so trusting of me so soon?" he says, as he stands. He adjusts his drenched nightgown. He reeks of sweat.

Maleek snorts. "I wouldn't go as far as that." He follows Roxas as he walks. "This is going to be kind of like a test for you."

Roxas glances at him over his shoulder before he strode into the bathing chamber, Maleek close behind. The assassin pauses on the threshold. "A test? How so?"

"The King and the Thirteen want to see how well you'll behave when in front of visiting dignitaries." Maleek says.

"What? They doubt that I'm civilized?"

"They want to see if you'll try to escape, or perhaps threaten some of the guests in exchange for your freedom."

"That's just folly, and rather insulting!" Roxas says angrily as he leans against the doorframe. "I know the risks that come while I am here. Anything I do risks me going back to Gollund. I know I'm desperate, but I'm not foolish."

"Alright, alright." Maleek calms, I'm just here to deliver the information.

Roxas sighs, rolling his eyes and slamming the door in response.

When he emerges, fresh and clean, he finds Maleek waiting for him in the dining room. "Don't you have your own breakfast?"

"I figured you wouldn't want to dine alone after your nightmare."

Roxas' cheeks flush as he sits down at the table and plops a couples waffles and pancakes onto his plate. Truthfully, he doesn't want to eat alone. He wants to see and believe that Maleek hasn't given up on him. "So, what time will the party begin?"

"It will begin at dusk, but the king wants us in the ballroom earlier to ensure that the area is secure. And remember, you're going as Tobias Cordano." Maleek explains as he pours another spoonful of honey into his tea.

Roxas groans. "Uh, don't tell me I'm just going to be standing around watching people eat and mingle with merriment. Will I even get a chance to sample the food?"

"I believe the king's safety is more important whether or not you get to try some fancy tuna."

Roxas sticks out his tongue, exposing the moistened glob of chewed waffle. Maleek withdraws as he chuckles.

"You are disgusting." Roxas merely shrugs as he swallows and pops a couple grapes in his mouth.

As Maleek stirs in more honey into his second cup of tea, Roxas looks up to his profile. The sun coming in through the windows makes Maleek's skin look as smooth as iris. His jawline is sharp and his eyes seem to glitter. He is so achingly handsome.

Loneliness tugs at Roxas heart, and he suddenly feels that familiar hollow silence that has since embedded itself into his core. If he isn't going to see Axel for the next handful of months, and then four years . . .

Four years; it seems short when it comes to his freedom, but _four_ years without Axel . . .

Would Maleek be willing to –?

Roxas shakes his head and stuffs a sausage into his mouth.

They sit in a comfortable silence before Maleek chirps. "Oh, before I forget . . ."

Maleek rises from the chair and Roxas watches as he trots over to the console table. He picks up two ornately carved scabbards with matching belts. He heads back over to Roxas, who rises from his chair as Maleek hands him the scabbards.

"The blacksmith finally finished." He smiles.

Roxas takes the scabbards in awe, holding them up to the light. "Wow, this is incredible."

"It's designed so that you can wear it on both your back and your waist. I was hoping you'd like it."

"Of course I would." Roxas smiles. "Although, I have to admit, the swords do seem more intimidating when unsheathed. But still, thank you."

Smiling from ear to ear, Roxas goes over to his bed where on one wall, he had a servant install a weapon's rack. There his legendary blades Oblivion and Oathkeeper hang. He takes Oblivion and carefully slides it into the scabbard. It's a perfect fit. He does the same thing with Oathkeeper and then rehangs the swords onto the weapon's rack.

Off in the library, the clock chimes ten. "Oh, I'm going to be late." Maleek says, seemingly unaware of the time. "I must be going. I'll try and see you around lunchtime." He says as he heads for the stairs. Is he going to be late because of Roxas? He could've just gone to the meeting and not bother to visit, but, is Maleek doing all of this for Roxas? Is he making all of these sacrifices for him?

Roxas watches until Maleek reaches the bottom before he calls out, "Maleek!" the captain stops and turns as Roxas hurries down the stairs. He stops a couple inches from the captain. "Uh, listen." Roxas swallows. "Not that I don't appreciate your company, but . . . you don't have to waste your free time visiting me."

Maleek gives a look of confusion. "Am I intruding?"

"No, no." Roxas stutters. Gods, is it already hot in here? Why is he so flustered? "It's just, you always seem to be running around, and I feel like I'm making you late to certain things."

"Roxas –"

"You deserve some time to yourself, and you can still come and visit me . . . just, take some time for off. Relax a little." Maleek stares at Roxas, not looking hurt, but still Roxas is stuttering. "I'm fine, Maleek. I promise. You kindness does not go unnoticed, I assure you. Maybe instead, I can come and visit you for a change."

Maleek's expression softens into a smile. "If that is what you wish. But you mind yourself while I'm gone." He winks.

With that, Maleek pulls on the knocker of the door and steps into the hallway. Roxas waves to him until the door closes. He doesn't move until he hears the footsteps grow distant, imagining that red cape Maleek was wearing, flowing behind him. Then he turns and presses his back against the door and sighs.

Slowly, Roxas' chambers become silent. Though he tries to forget it, the sound of the whip still snaps in his ears.

He decides to spend his hours in his room for a short while, exercising and practicing his swordplay. He doesn't know how Maleek had done it, but the scabbards fit like a glove. They press firmly into his back when he finally figures out how to strap it that way, and then its hugs his waist firmly. Roxas balances on the railing, dangles from the chandelier in the library and climbs his way up the wall, and the swords never drop once.

Transferring the weapons strapped to his waist, Roxas finally decides to emerge from his chambers, feeling like he's been given the right. Maleek didn't exactly forbid him from going anywhere. He merely instructed Roxas to behave. Hopefully the guards will let him pass.

Shrugging on a simple blue tunic and pants, he slips his feet into a pair of riding boots and approaches the door. Taking the knocker in his hands, he pulls, grunting as the doors slowly ajar. As he peeks his head out, the guards at his door spare him a look. Carefully Roxas smiles slightly as she dares step his foot out.

The guards eye him, some narrowing their eyes, but Roxas keeps his smile as his other foot passes over the threshold and he fully emerges from his room. Even if the guards decide to follow him around, Roxas doesn't mind. So long as he can explore more of the castle. Maleek's version of a tour was very, minimal.

Some of them grip their weapons as Roxas closes the door behind him, his heart beating rather fast. He sees some of them grip their spears, but Roxas simply finishes closing the door before squaring his shoulders.

He turns to one of the guards – an older man with a well-trimmed beard and mustache and impressive green eyes. "I'll be back before nightfall." Roxas smiles sweetly, clasping a thick leather cloak around his shoulders.

The guard rises his eyebrows in surprise, as if he is shocked that Roxas has the nerve to speak to him in such a way; especially when Roxas is technically a prisoner here.

Then Roxas adds. "By orders of your captain."

At this the guards seem to retract only slightly. Still, Roxas smiles sweetly as he turns away and starts to walk down the left hallway. He doesn't hear sounds of pursuit, but he had caught the glimpse of the sharpened canines indicating the man was Elven. They could be perusing Roxas right now, but of course, he didn't mind. He really has no plan to attack the King of the Queen – well, not anymore. Not when his freedom is on the line.

Even with the castle's open windows and natural lighting, he wants some fresh air, so he decides to head towards the castle gardens. That path he managed to memorize. He turns the corner and heads down a flight of stairs ending in a wide atrium with another flowing fountain. Statues of little angel children surround the basin and the water pours from the horn of a beautiful woman, her hair and dress flowing in wide billows behind her.

The guards might be disrupting his need for solitude, but as long as they keep out of sight, Roxas can at least pretend they're not there. He passes under the tall, metal arbor – completely overthrown with flowers and leaves and vines – and is welcomed into a world of flora and fauna as he enters the gardens. Out of habit, he pulls his hood up over his head, covering his blonde hair. Oblivion and Oathkeeper clink against his thighs, leaves crunching under his boots. He passes a cluster of ladies, each of whom curtsied and giggled behind their fans. Roxas gives them a terse nod as he strode by. He doesn't know if it's his intimidating attire, or if news of his joining the Thirteen had spread, but he can't help but grin as he passes the women, fanning themselves as he passes.

Roxas turns around a hedge, crashing into a hard figure of dark-purple velvet. It is the color of the violet flowers – deep, yet luminescent. Not to mention that the attire is about a hundred years out of fashion. As Roxas clumsily stumbles back, preparing himself to hit the ground, a strong hand connected to an even stronger arm reaches out, wrapping around his middle.

"Whoa." A deep, cool voice says. The tone sounding so smooth like honey. "Glad I caught you."

Roxas blinks his eyes open, unaware that he had closed them and finds a pair of crystal blue eyes. Long silver hair flows behind him, and the devilish grin makes the name blurt from Roxas' mouth. "Kuja."

Kuja pulls Roxas to his feet, the blond willing his cheeks not to turn red as he becomes aware of Kuja's arm wrapped around his middle and how close the man pulls Roxas before his arm falls. Once Roxas is balanced on his feet, he gives a nod of his head in thanks, and turns to Kuja's companion as he comes from around the corner. "Kain."

Kain was wearing his armor and helmet, only his strong jaw is exposed, the Holy Lance strapped to his back. His long blonde hair sways gracefully in the minimal breeze of the gardens. Extra daggers strapped to his belt and thighs and legs and tucked into his boots, then two sets of swords dangling from his hips. When he looks to Roxas, the assassin has to resist the urge to shrink into his cloak, tugging the hood closer around his face. His cheeks feel warm. _Gods dammit_.

"I'm surprised to see you out of your chambers." Kain says.

Roxas' mouth opens slightly, but he closes it to clear his throat. "A man has to get some fresh air, doesn't he? Windows and natural lighting can only do so much."

Kain simply huffs through his nose, but Roxas could have sworn he had a slight smile on his face.

"Come Roxas," Kuja says with a gesture of his hand. "Won't you walk with us?"

Roxas gives an appreciative nod and smile as he follows to two Elven men deeper into the garden. Standing in the middle of the two men, Roxas still feels so tiny, even when he had walloped Cecil and beat them both in the run yesterday morning. The men are taller than him obviously; Roxas reaching the height of their shoulders. Though Kain is dressed in his armor, Kuja seems as if he is leaving somewhere.

"You're looking awfully festive, Kuja. Meeting someone or are you visiting a dignitary with the king?"

"What are talking about?" he asks. "These are just my everyday clothes. Though I must complain; my servants were attending other matters when I dressed. There was nothing else to wear."

Roxas beholds the man's attire once more. It's a labyrinth of secret clasps, belts and ties. The folds of the violet cape – like the flowing of a tainted waterfall – is rather attractive. Even if it's centuries old, on Kuja it seems to look good. Glancing at his feet, they are clad in silver boots – silver just like his hair. But Roxas doesn't fail to notice that the belts have a variety of throwing knives and hunting daggers.

"You look very nice. Just a bit – out of place." Kuja gives Roxas an exasperated look. Roxas shakes his head, knowing that there are no others words that can fix what he had just said. But then surprisingly, Kain steps in.

"Kuja has a love for luxury. Always has, and always will. How he had gotten onto the Thirteen is beyond me. Even you had shown some grit from the start" – Kain gestures to Roxas – "yet _this_ one only showed up dressed in the finest silks. His one weapon, an elegantly jeweled dagger."

Roxas snorts, but quickly covers his mouth. Thankfully, Kuja smiles. "I am as beautiful as I am deadly. My looks are something I can't afford to let waste." He says as he runs his fingers through his hair.

"Have you met the Prince of Galtea?" Roxas asks as they turn another corner of the edges.

The two men nod.

Kain speaks up. "He was quite the sight."

"His _guards_ were quite the sight." Kuja emphasizes.

"Don't tell me you were intimidated." Kain coldly chuckles.

"So what if I was!" Kuja argues. "You know we're not the only warriors out there." Kuja turns to Roxas. "We might be the best in Valendia, but in other countries, we could be seen as nothing."

"But the king had said you were the best in all the continent of Ivalice." Roxas questions.

"Hmm, he flatters us."

"But he isn't wrong." Kain interjects. "Kuja just lacks the mind of a warriors."

"I can be just as rough as anyone else!" he defends. "Otherwise I wouldn't even be here. You believe me don't you Roxas?"

Roxas bites the inside of his lip. "Of course I do. I know better than to question an Elven warrior. But I will be even _more_ impressed when I see it in battle."

Kain gives Roxas a sour look while Kuja smiles. "Hmm, not bad. Now _this_ is a man who knows how to judge."

"Or just knows how to dodge an arrow."

Roxas looks to Kain with a pout, but when he sees the corner of Kain's mouth turn upright, Roxas sighs through his nose. "So, I assume you both heard about the king's gathering tonight?"

"Of course."

"Oh, I am so excited!" Kuja says. "It's the only time that we actually see some color in this place."

"Mind your tongue, Kuja." Kain snaps. "This castle is sacred. Carved by the king's ancestors; the first of our kind."

"Well if I had it _my_ way, it would be wall to wall lavender with gold trim. None of that white stuff. How about a little color?"

They head under an arbor tunnel lined with trees. The fiery colors of the leaves makes Roxas smile and awe. He hurries a few paces ahead, tilting his head up above to see the sunlight peeking through the canopy, igniting the leaves into an orange and red blaze with sprinkles of green and gold.

At the scuffle of leaves, Roxas turns to find a white-tailed deer grazing just outside the tunnel. It lifts its head, ears forward. Roxas smiles, breathing in astonishment. The deer turns its head slightly and Roxas can hear Kain and Kuja approach. Turning his head back, the deer doesn't move, simply flares its nostrils and resumes its grazing.

"The wildlife here are familiar with us." Kain says softly, his tone so gentle that it actually startles Roxas. He turns to find the warrior hovering over his shoulder. "We feed them once in a while, but they usually migrate during the cold months."

"Oh." Roxas murmurs as he swallows down his rapid heart. He resumes his walk with the two as they exit the tunnel.

"Are you attending the party, Roxas?" Kuja asks.

"Maleek said I could. But he said it's more of a test." he answers without bothering to hide the undercurrent of annoyance.

"You're surprised?" Kain asks.

"Not really, more rather insulted." Roxas says with a shrug of his shoulders. His leather cloak whispers against the cobblestone path they enter back towards the castle. "I know what happens to me if I try anything questionable or dangerous. I told him I'm not stupid." That last part was more to himself than to the two soldiers.

"Don't worry," Kuja says. "Usually nothing happens, and we're allowed to help ourselves to the food . . . as well as some of the guests."

"Edge must _love_ the king's gatherings then." Roxas chuckles, and to his surprise, so do they.

"As if the male's ego wasn't big enough." Kain says.

"He is harmless though, just because he can make women giggle that doesn't mean they wind up sharing his bed."

Male – not man. Man would indicate mortality. Guess even such little comparisons could be insulted. And do they do anything else than just roam around the castle on guard duty? Surely they must do something. Roxas can tell just from a glance that some of them can't stand to be sitting around all day.

"Do you men to anything else when not guarding the king and his parties?" Roxas asks.

"Of course we do." Kuja immediately answers. "We do have lives outside of the castle."

"Does the king send you on any missions?" Roxas presses.

"Not the kind that you're used to, probably. But yes, he does." answers Kain. "Every once in a while they involve a little bit of brutality. And usually quite a bit of coin."

Roxas tilts his head. "Sounds no more than the missions my father used to send me on."

"The only difference is that we don't leave anyone dead." Kain counters.

"At least not on purpose. But other than that, their ideals are similar. Of course the kill is what makes it exciting." Roxas grins viciously.

"You, are seriously twisted."

"Thank you." Roxas bows.

Once they reach another entryway to the garden, Roxas continues to follow the soldiers as they reenter the castle, the guards standing straighter when Kuja and Kain pass by, and their eyes following Roxas carefully. They have entered a hallway towards the back of the castle as it's unfamiliar to Roxas, and he spots several doors leading to the servants' quarters on either side of the grand staircase in front of them.

Kuja stops in front of them. "Well, I am very important and very busy." He says to the two of them, though more directly Roxas. He claps his hands together as he sighs. "So, I must be off. Good day to you, Roxas." He bows, the violet and silver gems in his belt sparkling in the sun. When he ascends the stairs, his cloak ripples behind him along the stairs.

Roxas looks to Kain. "And what about you?"

"I don't have any other plans due to the gathering tonight."

"I see." Roxas says, his shoulders slouching.

"Although," Kain starts again, Roxas feeling rather nervous at the mischief in his tone. "If you're looking for something to do . . ."

Roxas looks to find Kain facing him, taking one step closer. Roxas' cheeks warm and his blood thrums in his veins. Kain leans in and Roxas nearly gasps until he whispers. "I have a special case for you," he whispers against Roxas ear. Roxas wants so desperately to push him of, but from the angle of the guards still watching them, it looks rather . . . different. "Something that the king has assigned us; me specifically."

His words tickle Roxas' ear and he feels as if his heart is about to burst. But he closes his eyes and forces himself to listen. Kain leans back and steps away, and Roxas pulls the hood of his cloak down lower, fully aware of the heat in his cheeks. If Kain notices, he doesn't say anything.

"That is, if you think you can handle it." he grins.

With his mouth agape, Roxas swallows and gives his best smile and matching the low octave of Kain's voice. "I'm insulted you doubt me."

Kain chuckles, or rather a simply exhale through his nose and grins. "Alright, then tonight, after the ceremony, meet me in my chambers."

"I don't exactly know where they are. And unless you want rumors to spread around the palace, perhaps you should just escort me."

Roxas can see Kain roll his eyes under his helmet. "If you insist, and that is if you can pry yourself away from Maleek long enough."

"Oh, hush up." Roxas immediately snaps.

He forces his feet to move up the stairs. He turns to wave to Kain off and the warrior merely lifts his hand in reply as he turns and heads down one of the doors on the side of the staircase.

Let the guards think what they want. Roxas has been itching for something to do other than training and being cooped up in his rooms. He's been waking up early before dawn with or without Maleek to go for runs, and to use the obstacle courses in private. He eats whenever he can, enough to fill three Elven men, and can already feel himself getting stronger, as if thrashing Cecil wasn't proof enough. He still isn't at his former glory yet, but at least he now has confidence in himself.

And, to be honest, he misses the rush that comes with his profession, and if Kain is offering something like a return to that, Roxas will take it.

Since he still doesn't want to return to his chambers until lunch, Roxas decides to ask the guards he finds around the castle, and with a handful of turns into different hallways and trekking up and down a few flights of stairs, he finds himself in his home away from home.

The giant marble sculptures of voluptuous, angelic women shine in the sunlight. Their dresses billow behind them, their wings folded or spread wide as they guard the grand entrance to the library.


	36. Chapter 10 (Part Two)

Roxas scans the crowd of faces, their form, looking for anyone – or anything – suspicious. He is currently just outside the towering balcony doors, leaning against the pillar, arms crossed – _not_ hiding in the shadows as Maleek had told him to. The tendrils of his breath curls in the night air, and the moonlight glints off the hilt of one of the many daggers he wears at his side. Oblivion and Oathkeeper seem to glow like embers in the light as well.

The Grand Ballroom is white as snow, like the rest of the palace, but decorated in pastels, opened large and wide around the rectangular dance floor filled with revolving dancers. Gilt details chase the curved walls and net the domed ceiling far above. Swaths of silk in hues of white and glacier blue float from the ceiling and ornate glass baubles hang between. The whole room glistens and sparkles like the inside of a Fabergé egg.

Dressed like iridescent dragonflies, the musicians sit huddled in one corner. They play their instruments feverishly, bowstrings fluttering like the wings of the insects they represent. The rhythm they keep is a steady on-two-three, one-two-three. Dancers turn like dervishes, bead-and-gemstone-encrusted skirts flaring out.

Powdered and pale, the women look like stale pastries. Tall and with garish, pointed ears, the men seem like predators. Roxas was surprised at how many Elven men and women had arrived; looking so _mortal_ with their enormous yards of fabric they call dresses and jackets that square the shoulders with multiple medals and sashes crossing their chests.

King Sephiroth sits on his throne, looking powerful and regal in his red and gold jacket, a fur-lined cape draping out onto the floor. The Queen is at his side, speaking with Prince Kiros.

Honestly, even those seem more comfortable than the armored suit Roxas currently wears.

Hours before the ball, Maleek had come to Roxas informing that his suit is ready. And when Roxas had seen it, he was . . . surprised. What seemed like a simple modification, they had entirely transformed it changing the colors and adding pieces of actual armor, not like the light leather Roxas is so used to. Steel blue, gold, and black armor, with several red lines decorating it. One of the reasons he dreads wearing it. The thing must weigh forty pounds.

Currently dressed in the suit, trying to ignore the weight crushing his shoulders, his new armor predominantly sports shades of green and gold. In this suit, Roxas has a yellow cape to his outfit that is discolored, almost appearing rusted. It drapes past his feet, swooping to the side in an elegant manor, as if he is posing for a portrait. The armor on his knees are gold and bears a sharp, upward-pointing hook on the outer side of each one. Roxas' boots are colored completely gold in this outfit.

Even more disconcerting, his suit is now fitted with a helmet, which Roxas immediately refused to wear. Hoods he can bear, but helmets it something Roxas doesn't like. Constantly breathing in the same filthy air, the sweat that gathers on your forehead and behind your ears . . . No, Roxas will not wear it.

Of course that is until Maleek reminded Roxas that he has to keep his identity a secret, and that him being seen at the ball can cause . . . disruptions. Roxas' helmet also has a notably different design from Kain's or Cecil's, appearing more squashed and flat at the top. His helmet also has two prongs on either side of his head which point backwards and angle diagonally upward.

Something about it is grateful, but something more along the lines of what Roxas has seen for aerodynamics.

But admittedly, whoever designed it did a good job of keeping circulation clean. His helmet doesn't grow hot or stuffy. The screen covering his eyes doesn't fog from exhales, and he can even feel the coolness of the air circulate through it, keeping his ears from sweating.

And . . . as a bonus, Roxas could shift into his elven form, and when his ears stretched and pointed, they didn't push against the interior, merely slid smoothly into the two prongs on either side. Intentional? Either way, Roxas is grateful.

Being in his Elven form, he can see almost every detail, right down to the pearl beading on a woman's gown, and smell everything – from the exquisite banquet that no one is touching and even to the smell of the guests. Perfume and cologne, as well the stench of their fear whenever the Thirteen moved was distracting, and made Roxas dizzy in the head. And his ears picked up each sound of a clicking show, to the tickle of silverware, to the blood pulsing in the necks of the guests.

Across the room, he catches Kain tucked into an alcove near a servant's entrance. There he can keep an eye on the glittering ball in front of him, as well as the assassin. Which is fine; every so hour Roxas would look to Kain, bearing the elven warrior to feel his gaze, and when they made eye contact, Roxas gave him the reminder of their meeting after the ball. And Kain would give a nod every time, a devious grin on his lips.

Other members of the Thirteen are scattered about the ballroom, the majority hidden within the limited shadows. Roxas had actually learned that Edge and Vincent, who seem as close as a dog and a cat, were given an inner title called The Shadows. Rightfully titled to them as they had been trained together since infancy to blend into any silver of darkness and listen – and they are nowhere to be seen in this hall.

A feeling draws Roxas' attention to look to his right and he finds Maleek emerge from his spot, look to him, and nod. Time to rotate.

They've been keeping this pattern going since the party started . . . five hours ago. They would rotate every hour to observe the guests, and each time, Roxas could see some of the guests stiffen and look, as if waiting for something to happen. And when the Thirteen would resume their new positions, the guest would relax and continue about. Roxas couldn't tell if they were nervous because they were scared something was going to happen, or if because they were nervous of getting caught if they were conspiring.

As the Thirteen rotates, Roxas turns his helmeted head and a tingle of joy spreads up his spine when he sees himself wandering towards the long buffet tables, covered with so much food that edges of some of the plates ads hovering over the edge.

He turns his head back towards the crowd, people scattered through the floor dressed like peacocks and jesters, demons and queens. There are feathered dresses and silk suits, glittering gowns with belled sleeves, top hats and long cloaks. Roxas passes a young woman decked in white ostrich feathers and diamonds as she lies sprawled on a divan. Her ivory slipper hanging from one toe, a glass of wine in each hand, she laughs hysterically as a tiny man in a green and yellow jester's costume takes one false fall after another.

As he passes a few young women with dresses donned in ruffles and they flutter themselves with their lace fans, batting their eyelashes and giggling coyly. Roxas merely passes them by giving a terse nod of acknowledgement.

His attention is on the food. The scent of cinnamon, freshly baked bread, and spiced meat seeped through his helmet, causing his stomach to clench. Tureens are overflowing with fruit and are arranged in bouquets, plates of fowl ranging from turkeys, to chickens, to ducks, to larger species Roxas doesn't even know. The smell of their gravy makes his mouth flood with saliva, and they are each sprinkled with spices, lemon juice and finished with little tuffs on the ends of their legs. Trays of ocean creatures sit fried or grilled with little cups of dipping concoctions in front of them; Roxas taking a piece of fried calamari and dunking it into a marinara sauce as red as blood.

Lifting the front screen of his helmet, his mouth explodes in a flavor that almost makes him groan, and leaves behind a hot aftertaste. The next table is all about salads with fresh greens and vegetables and several dressings lined perfectly.

Of course there are over eight thousand plates, and almost all of them have barely been touched.

And then the table after that is home to the desserts. Gods – cakes and cookies, cupcakes and pies all flavoring from chocolate to fruit, drizzled with sauces of caramel, chocolate, berries and topped with powdered sugar and whipped cream. Silver platters hold piles of candy and pastries stuffed with jam or cream. The frostings range from pink to blue and green and purple, designed in flowers and hearts and elegantly traced. The sweet odor draws Roxas away from the other tables.

There are only a few slices missing from the cakes, only a couple cupcakes were taken, and only small pickings of the candy. And there he finds his favorite: hazelnut truffles. And they look _exquisite_. Perfectly colored down with their tips dipped in the thick caramel sauce. Popping another in his mouth, Roxas moans as his taste buds are sent to a sugary wonderland.

"You better hope your teeth don't turn red again." A voice says behind him. Roxas jumps and whirls around to find Maleek out of his post with a smile on his face. He looks handsome today. It is in the way his hair meets his tan skin – in the tiny gaps between the strands, in the way it falls across his brow.

"You had better hope that no one yells at you for abandoning your post." Roxas says as he finishes chewing and swallowing the truffle. He closes the screen to his helmet.

Maleek chuckles. "As to you, Sir _Tobias_."

Roxas rolls his eyes as he sucks the remnants off his thumb and turns to pour himself some of the glittering cider in the large crystal bowl with intricate snowflakes carved in itself. "I did not abandon my post. It just so happens that my post was right next to the banquet tables."

"Right." Maleek grins as he helps himself to a skewer of fruits. He pulls off a strawberry and tosses it into his mouth. The two of them turn back to the crowd to observe. He then says, "So, how're things going for guard duty?"

"I'm bored to tears and nearly dead with the cold breeze coming in through the doors."

Maleek's shoulders slouch and he shakes his head, still grinning. "You're the greatest assassin in Kingdom hearts, and yet you can't stand watch for a few hours?"

"What's there to watch?" Roxas hisses. "Couples sneaking out to fondle each other between the hedges? Or every giggling maiden wanting to dance with any of us?"

"Not like you don't adore the attention."

Roxas barks a laugh. "No! Gods, no. I'm spoken for and you know it."

"I know, I know." Maleek says almost sadly. "I'm just ruffling your feathers."

They stand in silence, Roxas about to tell Maleek he should get back to his spot, when the captain clears his throat. Roxas turns his head, his hand drifting to his sword. But when he follows the angle of Maleek's head, Roxas smiles behind his helmet when he sees Kiros approaching them, his smile bright and welcoming. He is resplendent in a cobalt jacket with gold-thread accents, his hair coiled and braided in a coronet atop his head. His delicate golden earrings glitter in the light of the chandelier, drawing eyes to his elegant neck. Kiros is easily the most stunning man in the ballroom, and Roxas didn't fail to notice how many women – and men – had been watching him all night.

Maleek bows, "You Majesty."

Kiros nods to the captain, but barely stops until he reaches Roxas. When he does, Roxas doesn't bother to bow. Kiros opens his arms and Roxas walks right into them, the two of them chuckling. Several men and women of the ball gasp, but Kiros imply laughs more as he holds Roxas' hands and says in Galtea, "Oh, it is so good to see you again my friend."

"As to you, Your Majesty." Roxas instantly replies, then folding in his lips when Kiros glares at him with a grin. "Sorry, force of habit."

He's managed to see Kiros a fair amount over the past two weeks since he had first met the prince – mostly just for brief walks and dinners, where they discussed what it was like for Kiros to grow up in Galtea, what he thinks of Valendia, and who at court had managed to annoy the prince that day. Which, to Roxas' delight, is usually everyone.

"Roxas," Kiros says softly. "you need not be so formal." Roxas simply shrugs as he sets his hands on his hips. "I must say that armor makes you look so much more intimidating than your usual outfits of black."

"Uh, the thing weighs more than me! I can barely walk without feeling like I'm going to keel over." Roxas replies in Galtea. The prince laughs, and Maleek clears his throat.

Kiros still hasn't asked Roxas about how he'd wound up in Valendia when Gollund Mines was in Lesalia . . . torturously. Every time Roxas thought about how so close Axel was, Gollund being so agonizingly close to the city, ten miles out – that was the worst kind of torture the mine could offer. Even worse than solitary confinement, or the whippings . . .

"How goes your studies, Your Highness?" he asks.

Kiros bites on the words for a moment, blinking a couple times before answering. "They are . . . tolerable." He retorts, his accent thick and a bit unwieldy. He then turns to Roxas to say in Galtea, "My slobbery-nosed tutor couldn't teach a dog how to bark." Roxas snorts. "I swear it! Roxas, he is teaching me the basics when I learned them in my _toddler_ years! And no matter how much I insist, he merely shakes his head, claiming my accent is too thick to understand."

"Maybe because you keep switching back to Galtea." Roxas chuckles through his grin. Kiros smacks his arm, causing Maleek and some of the guests to stiffen. But Roxas merely chuckles more and asks, "Why would they give you a tutor who can't understand you?"

Kiros replies in Galtea, "Because this continent is hopeless when it comes to matters of common sense. That and it would take weeks for a translator of Galtea to come here; at least, one who was brave enough to come."

While Roxas could listen to Kiros rant about the people of Valendia for hours, they are in a ballroom – other people are listening to their lengthy conversation, even if they can't understand it.

"Why would your people be afraid of Valendia? Isn't it Kerwon whom they resent?" Roxas asks, his voice more quiet.

"It's not the continent they fear, merely its inhabitants." Kiros says. He then turns to the table of desserts and extends out a graceful hand to take a yellow-cream custard toppled with seasonal berries; a Galtea delicacy.

Roxas turns his feet, following the prince and folding his arms. His back now to Maleek, the captain thankfully stays quiet, but Roxas can sense the piercing gazes of onlookers. Their eyes piercing through his helmet. "You mean, the Elves?"

Kiros looks to him and a smirk. "No, the gnomes and trolls." Roxas would've smacked the prince's arm, but he doesn't need the guests panicking and having members of The Thirteen tackle him to the ground. Or even just pierce an arrow in his throat. "Have you not seen the sentries? They are rather impressive."

"You said they had feared them, yet you express admiration." Roxas reiterates, keeping their conversation in Galtea. He plucks a chocolate frosting flower and lifts the screen to his helmet. He gulps the entire in one inhale and sets the screen back down. Although now he wants some more cider.

"Not like the 'normal' kind of fear." Kiros rephrases. "Merely, intimidation."

"That shouldn't be enough to stop them."

"Oh please. Even you know for a fact that these, _males_ are impressive beyond any mortal standards. Which is why I am surprised to see you as a part of the one of the most feared organizations of the entire Ivalice continent."

"The Thirteen are impressive, I won't deny. But they can't be the best."

Kiros chuckles, causing Roxas' cheeks to warm. "How are you apart of the coven, yet so naive about their reputation?" He pats Roxas' armored shoulder.

"I consider it being humble."

Kiros chuckles some more. "But apart from that, Valendia is the closest continent to Kerwon." Kiros shrugs. "I presume they fear coming here should Kerwon advance their army into the territory."

"That's a bit of a stretch." Roxas says, his voice laced with doubt.

Kiros give a wave of his hand. "Even so, it keeps tutors from coming out."

Roxas is about to retort when Maleek steps in and says, "Time to rotate."

Has it been an hour already? Roxas rolls his eyes and sighs as he starts to walk to his next position of the ballroom. Kiros finishes another pastry before quickening his steps to follow Roxas. Maleek follows them as well, leaning to Roxas. "You two seem to be getting along well."

Roxas can't help but smile at the jealousy and slight irritation in Maleek's tone. "You think that's bad? You should see us when we really get going."

Once he reaches his new position – this time under the alcove cast in shadows – he turns and leans against the marble pillar, folds his arms and sighs. Thankfully Maleek takes a few steps away as a respectable distance, but still within vague earshot.

"So, have you spoken to King Sephiroth about it?" Roxas asks the prince in Galtea.

At the mention of King Sephiroth, Maleek turns his head. But Roxas merely keeps his eyes focused on the prince. Kiros sighs. "I know His Majesty means well, and I know he has his duties, but I feel as though he is brushing me off. Granted he is a kind man and he listens to me in council meetings. But whenever I wish to have a private audience with him, I am denied."

"It's not like you post a threat. Were you not just speaking with the Queen?"

" _Only_ the Queen, as many women and noblemen keep approaching him. I give the man credit though. I would normally cringe, yet he keeps smiling brightly and accepts each word they wish to speak with him."

Roxas glance around them. Ladies are eagerly watching from behind their fans, and even the Queen has noticed their lengthy conversation.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Roxas says, a pang of guilt aching in his chest. He could probably get Kiros an audience with the king easily at their next meeting with the Thirteen. As he's thinking he suddenly hears Maleek call him. He turns his head to the captain, trying not to roll his eyes.

"Just as punishment for leaving, we're running an extra mile tomorrow morning."

"Oh great." Roxas says with a thumbs up. "I look forward to it!"

The prince grabs Roxas' hand. "You'll teach me!" he says in Galtea. "Teach me how to better speak your language – and teach me how to write and read it better than I do now. So I don't have to suffer through those horribly boring old men they call tutors."

"I –" Roxas begins in the common tongue and winces. Having the prince be fluent in both languages _would_ be great fun. But convincing Maleek to let him see Kiros is always a hassle – because he insists on being there to keep watch. He'd never agree to sitting through lessons. "I don't know how to properly teach you my language." Roxas lies.

"Nonsense." Kiros says. "You'll teach me. After . . . whatever it is you do with _that_ one. For an hour every day before supper."

Kiros raises his chin in a way that suggests saying no isn't an option. Roxas swallows, and does his best to look pleasant as he turns to Maleek, who observes them with raised brows. He walks back over. "He wishes me to tutor him every day before supper."

"I'm afraid that's not possible." He says. Roxas translates.

Kiros gives Maleek the withering glare that usually makes people star t sweating. "Why not?" he falls into Galtea. "He is smarter than most of the people in this castle."

Maleek, thankfully, caught the gist of it. "I don't think that –"

"Am I not Prince of Galtea?" Kiros interrupts in the common tongue.

"Your Highness," Maleek begins, but Roxas silences him with a wave of his hand. A gathering of women approach them, fanning themselves as always and batting their eyes. The men give them all nods as they curtsied and went on, giggling like a pack of birds.

Kiros is staring at Roxas' forehead, or where Roxas' forehead would be behind the helmet, and the assassin asks. "Is there something on my helmet?

"No." Kiros says a bit distantly, his brows knitting as he studies Roxas' brow. The prince suddenly stares into Roxas' eyes with a ferocity that makes the assassin recoil. "Do you bear the same Elven traits as the rest of the great warriors?"

A clock tower chimes in the distance.

"No," Roxas says. "I don't."

"You're hiding something." The prince says softly in Galtea, though is it not accusatory. "You are much more than you seem, Roxas."

"I – well, I should hope I'm more than just some simpering courtier." He says with such bravado as he can master. He grins broadly hoping Kiros would stop looking so strange, and stop staring at his brow. "Can you teach me to speak Galtea properly?"

"If you teach me more of your ridiculous language." Says the prince, through some caution still lingers in his eyes. What had Kiros seen that caused him to act that way?

"It's a deal." Roxas says with a weak smile. "Just don't tell _him_. Captain Camobrook leaves me alone in the midafternoon the hour before supper is perfect."

"Then I shall come tomorrow at five." Kiros says. The prince smiles and begins to walk once towards the King and Queen, a spark appealing in his black eyes. Roxas watches as they rotate spots again in the ballroom, bringing Roxas almost all the way back to his original spot near the balcony. Once he sees Kiros exchange a nod and smile with the Queen, he waves off and makes his trek back to Roxas. "I wish to leave now. Will you escort me to my rooms?"

Roxas beams behind helmet. This will be the perfect chance to get out of the party early to meet Kain, and finally take off his accursed helmet. "Yes. Yes of course!" he leans into the prince. "Anything to get me out of guard duty."

Kiros smiles and links elbows with Roxas. Maleek approaches, but Roxas speaks before he can even ask. "His Highness grows tired of the party. He wishes for me to escort him back to his rooms."

Roxas turns away, elbows still linked as he escorts the prince out of the ballroom.

One of the two of Kiros' guards follow them, but Roxas doesn't mind. He immediately takes off his helmet, revealing his flushed cheeks and the strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. They walk down the hall in silence, the clicking of their boots echoing throughout the walls. The silence if comfortable, and Kiros keeps their elbows linked. Roxas has his helmet tucked under his other arm. Kiros still smiles and as they pass the large windows, he stares outside. The full moon makes his beaded hair glitter and his skin appear sculpture smooth.

Roxas lets him lead the way to his chambers, of which he knows the route well, and Roxas can spot the room immediately as the other guard comes into view standing outside of the double white doors outlined in guilt gold details.

He steps aside as and opens the door for the prince. The one who had escorted them resumes his position. Kiros stops in the threshold and turns to Roxas.

The assassin is surprised when the prince suddenly speaks. "I know you might not trust me. And I do not wish to force you."

"What –?"

"You have been through so much, and yet your heart is still warm." Roxas is speechless, his mouth agape in surprise. Kiros stares Roxas for a long moment before smiling gently. "You have power in you, Roxas. More power than you realize." He touches Roxas' chest, tracing a symbol there, and Roxas can suddenly feel a tiny shock travel through his heart and spread out to his arms and legs. Kiros' eyes are locked on him. "It sleeps." He whispers, tapping Roxas' heart. "In here. When the times comes, when it awakens, do not be afraid." Kiros removes his hand and gives Roxas a smile. "When it is time, I will help you."

With that, Kiros walks fully into his chambers, shutting the door quietly behind him. Roxas stares at the door as if he can see the prince through the door, walking away; wondering what his last words meant.

And why, when he had said them, something ancient and slumbering deep inside of the assassin opens an eye.

He sets a hand on his heart as he finally turns away from the prince's chamber doors and starts down the hallway. He had managed to get a brief look and Kain and with a simple lift of his brows signaled he was leaving. His assumption is that Kain is maybe waiting for him outside the ballroom. But instead when he turns the corner, he finds the warrior leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, but a grin on his face.

Roxas blinks, puzzled. "How – how did you find me?" Roxas stupidly asks, and then adds. "I thought you'd be waiting for me outside the ballroom."

Kain shrugs. "I just followed your scent. It wasn't that hard to miss."

Instinctively, Roxas brings his hand up to wipe the back of his neck, his forehead and behind his ears. He's not too keen on having this warrior following him around like a hound dog following his scent, especially when its body perspiration. He's about to give back a witty response, but Kain merely extends out his arm, gesturing Roxas down the hallway. His shoulders slouching, Roxas continues to towards Kain and starts to follow him as he takes the lead.

They don't go up any flights of stairs, merely walk towards the end of the hallway and then turns left and then the first door on the left-hand side is where Kain stops. The double doors are large and the panels are outlined in gold. Kain pushes the door open and Roxas steps inside, trying to ignore the thrumming of his blood in his ears. The guards posted outside nod to Kain, stiffening as they walk inside. When he steps inside, Roxas is taken by surprise.

Inside, the room immediately grows warm in that the whiteness of the castle seems to disperse immediately. Unlike Roxas' enormous chambers, Kain's room is all put together in one single chamber, and then the bathing room blocked off by a door near the very back. The ceiling is still high with more golden details intricately bordering around the room and morphing into a mosaic at the center. Two chandeliers hang above, their decorative crystals gleaming like diamonds, and his walls are actually covered with ornate stencils of fleur-de-lis. The floor is mostly covered with large, beige rugs under the sets of furniture he has. The dining table is near the back by the three floor-to-ceiling windows, now blocked with golden draperies.

His bed is pushed against the right wall with an elegant bed canopy and its curtains pushed back. It's covered with the pushiest pillows Roxas has seen, one end table with a crystal lamp on it, and then another desk just off the side the of the bed. Directly across the bed on the other wall is a wooden fireplace with a large mirror set atop the mantel, then an antique clock with an impish little angel leaning on it, looking up into nothing. Two end tables with two more lamps flank the fireplace, and then a couch, two armchairs and a glass coffee table in between surround the front. Behind them, a little divan with a warm flannel blanket.

It's the picturesque of elegance, but gives off a warm, home-like feeling to it.

Roxas looks all around, taking in the little things that make this Kain's room; like the desk off the side of the bed has papers on it, a couple pens scattered and the lamp turned on; the fireplace is still crackling softly with a book set open on the glass table, a bookmark set from where he left off; little glass figurines set on either side of the clock on the fireplace; a couple more books on the back desk are stacked next to a half-filled out sheet of paper, a pen still in the ink well.

"I hope my chambers are to your liking." Kain says as he passes by Roxas, taking off his helmet wiping his forehead and setting it on the little stand next to the couch. His long blonde hair sways as he shakes his head.

"It's, honestly smaller than I had anticipated." Roxas admits as he sets his own helmet on the divan.

Kain removes his cape and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs of the dining table. "Not all of us like to have large, extravagant chambers to ourselves. Personally, it would only remind me of how alone I am, in such a big space."

Roxas looks to Kain in surprise, some sadness welling at Kain's words. "Don't you share a room with your brother?"

Kain gives Roxas an annoyed expression, as if asking him how he hasn't pieced it together yet. "We might be bound by blood, but even I can only take so much of my brother. Especially at night, the male snores like a wild boar."

Roxas chuckles, quickly covering his mouth. He tries not to stare as Kain strips off his armor, setting it on the floor, and then furthering to remove his tunic. His skin is so tan with multiple scars crisscrossing here and here, a large set in the shape of claws rakes across his hip, ending at his V-line. His abdominal muscles are distinct in a pack of six, and stupidly Roxas' cheeks are warm again.

"It's strange." Roxas suddenly blurts. Kain merely gives him a questionable look as he disappears into the bathing room. He leaves the door slightly ajar, and Roxas remains standing in the room, feeling it would be rude to sit down when he didn't offer it.

"What is?" Kain asks through the door.

"Well it's just, you Thirteen members are the perfect personification of warriors. Strong, elite, skilled in every aspect. So it's rather unworldly to hear you, complain of things that are so, normal. Or mortal." Roxas explains. He sees Kain shrug on another tunic, black this time, and then start to remove his trousers. He clears his throat as he averts his eyes.

"We may be warriors, Roxas, but we are still male by heart. We're still men." Kain emerges from the bathing chamber. "We still have our flaws; we're just better at hiding it."

He then motions Roxas towards the fireplace and Roxas gives a nod of thanks. He sits in one of the armchairs since the opened book in front of the couch dictates where Kain will sit. "So, what is this case, anyway? And do the other members know about it?"

"Of course." Kain says as he trifles through a few papers on the other desk near the windows. "Even if we have personal issues to deal with, the entire coven knows of it."

"Seems a little intrusive." Roxas says as Kain walks over to him.

"Not really. We've see what happens when members attain to their own agenda, and they end up . . . well, kicked out or dead."

"Dead as punishment?"

"No, because they were stupid enough to go alone. And I speak from personal experience." Kain says without looking at Roxas. His focus is on the papers as he sets them on the coffee table. Roxas tries to peer at them without leaning, and then Kain looks to him. "I understand you were living with Reno before you had been sent out to Gollund."

The question is cold sounding, of not, disinterested. But Roxas swallows down a lump in his throat and nods. "Yes, he was the brother of my . . . partner. And he did say he had worked with the King. Honestly I thought he was fibbing."

"He was a character, I can vouch for that. And yes, he did attend a decent handful of meetings with the King and his court. Not too hard to find him; with his spiky red hair and his carelessness. But the man could make an argument."

"So why do you ask?"

"Because we had gotten reports that he had acquired you help for the case of the husk bodies being found within the borders of Lesalia." Kain explains, and Roxas' throat clenches as he sees Kain set down report after report of matching description: a husk was found with dried blood running down its nose and ears, face sketched in horror and sorrow.

"Oh no," Roxas mumbles.

Kain doesn't say anything, but he looks at Roxas for a moment. He pushes one of the reports towards Roxas and Roxas doesn't take it not wanting to show his shaking hand. "We'd gotten a report as recently as three days ago about a body discovered near Koga Village. And this time, it's a demi-elf."

"What?"

"If this thing, this creature, is starting to target demi-elves, this causes great concern."

"So when it only targets elves is when you get concerned." Roxas suddenly snaps coldly.

Kain looks to Roxas and leans forward, elbows to his knees. "We're concerned for the safety of _all_ our citizens, Roxas. Human or Elf. It's when they target the elves that we grow even more concerned, because the elves have _magic_. Whether you are half-blood or purebred, you have it. Your blood depends on your power." Kain sets a finger on the paper. "You saw the bodies yourself; they're not mauled, they're not mutilated. They are _drained_. If this thing can drain life essence, it drains their magic with it. Now _that_ , is concerning."

Roxas sighs, closing his eyes and dropping his shoulders. "So what do we do now?"

"The local guards have blocked off the sight for us, and kept an eye on the body. We're going to have to travel out to Koga Village and investigate."

"Are we all going?"

"Some of us have to stay behind and guard the King." says Kain. "So it's you, me, my brother and Vincent."

"Do you have any suspects?"

"We did notice that the body was found just off shore of the beach." Kain pulls out a map from the pile of papers and turns it to Roxas. "Near that is a forest, and that's home to a local bandit group who have, more than a grudge against The Thirteen."

"Rivals?"

Kain chuckles. "Of a sort. Members who had been banned or didn't get in. They're merely suspects by now. And no doubt our presence will stir them up to do something."

"All the more reason to make our presence known." Roxas grins. Kain looks to him and returns it. Roxas looks back to the map. "But the only problem, for me at least, is that the village is practically on the other side of the continent. It would take us weeks just to make it here. And by then another victim could be targeted."

With them being in the Royal City of the New Valendian Kingdom, they'd have to pass through The Deadlands, cross the massive ravine that practically cuts through the continent, and then make their way through The Orient to get to the village. That's quite the travel, especially considering the weather conditions as they change.

Valendia is known as the 'Summer Continent.' They don't get much cold weather, and they definitely don't get snow in the winter. So instead of celebrating Yuletide, they hold the festival Samhain. A Valendian festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the "darker half" of the year. It is celebrated from sunset on the last day of October to sunset on the first of November, or about halfway between the autumn equinox and the winter solstice.

"Well, out travel actually depends on your ability to shift." Kain says as he leans back into the couch, draping an arm over the edge. "You've ever run in your Elven form before?"

Oh, yes he has. And it was the greatest thing he had ever experienced. He can still remember the wind in his hair, hissing in his ears. The forest around him blurring into a tunnel of green; the scents of all the flora and fauna and animals as they ran alongside him. The rush was enough to make him wail with happiness.

"I have. But I can't make that trek." Roxas admits.

"I figured. And I'll admit to you, not even we can make that trek, whether in our immortal or animal form." Kain says as he folds his hands in his lap. "So we're actually having the body sent to us from Koga Village. Our travel isn't for another few weeks, give or take."

"Well then why tell me this now?"

"Because, as I said, all members need to be informed of the situation."

Roxas groans and rolls his eyes. "I thought you were finally giving me something to do."

"Patience, Roxas. We'll go when things are ready." Kain assures, doing his best to hide his growl. "Once the body is here, we'll let you know. And there is another reason . . ."

Roxas looks to Kain wearily.

"I understand you had a personal experience."

Immediately his throat closes. In an instant he remembers the two beds, the mutilated bodies of his unknown aunt and uncle. And then Ventus' body, his blood turning the bed black.

"Reno filed in a brief report of what you had described. Needless to say it was less than helpful."

Roxas suddenly feels sick; and it comes through in his voice when he speaks. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I won't force you. But do understand that it can be useful to the case." Roxas stiffly nods. He swallows, and his throat is dry. "Alright, well I think I ruined your night enough. You may take your leave." Kain sighs as he rises from the couch. Roxas blinks and rises with him. Kain goes to fetch Roxas' helmet and hands it to him.

Roxas takes it and looks at Kain. His eyes are warm, yet frozen with a hardness that Roxas is familiar with. "You didn't completely ruin my night." Roxas says as he follows Kain to the doors. "You got me away from guard duty, at least."

Kain opens the doors and Roxas can see the guards stiffen. The warrior gives a small smile as he holds the door open. "Believe me, it'll only get worse from here."

As Roxas walks through the door, he is merely to two steps out when Kain speaks.

"Roxas." the assassin turns back to the warrior. He is leaning against the door, his one arm propping him against the frame. "You pretty tough; I respect that. In fact I'm surprised at how well you've been doing so far. Just, wanted to let you know."

Roxas stares at the warrior, blinking a couple times before nodding. A small smile on his lips.

"You let me know if you need anything. Okay?"

Another nod and Kain gives a brief goodnight before closing his doors. Roxas quickly turn away and makes his way back towards his rooms. The whole way, he has a smile on his lips.

Surely Kain didn't mean that romantically, and despite his appearance, Roxas can't see himself falling for him. It was more along the lines of . . . acceptance. Respect.

That's the one thing that fuels Roxas' smile right now. He is earning their respect, and they're not treating him like some frail mortal boy. But actually as one of their own.

The smile stays on Roxas' face as he make it to his room. He nods to the guards as he enters. And it isn't until he gets to the top of the stairs does he find Maleek sitting at the dining table, a book in front of him and a cup of warm tea by his elbow.

"Maleek?" the captain turns and smiles at Roxas, getting up from his seat. Roxas unclasps the cape of his uniform and tosses it onto one of the dining room chairs. "What are you doing here?" Roxas asks as he sets his helmet on the console table.

"At this point, it really shouldn't be surprising to find me in your rooms." Maleek smiles. Roxas rolls his eyes as he walks over to the table, finding a simple plate of cookies. He takes one and munches on it. "But I was actually wondering where you were. Since you left your post so suddenly."

"I told you, I was escorting the prince back to his chambers." Roxas says as he wanders over to his bed and starts to pick apart the pieces of his armor.

"Yeah, well you conveniently managed to avoid the rest of the ball. All of the guests are leaving now."

"Oops." Roxas smirks. He removes the pauldrons, setting them down on the first step of the dais. "I'm surprised you didn't come searching for me."

"Why would I? Don't get me wrong I was worried, though."

Roxas looks to the captain confused. His fingers fumble with the buckle of his gloves. "Do you not remember who I am?"

Maleek simply shrugs. Roxas is starting to wonder if Maleek is drunk. He seems too relaxed that it is out of character. But then he says. "I'm not going to follow you every step and every location you go to. For one, I have my own things to worry about, as I have duties _outside_ of The Thirteen. And two, I'm actually starting to trust you, again."

Roxas looks to Maleek. "You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk, Roxas. But I have been watching you. And you seem to be taking this thing seriously."

"Why wouldn't I?" Roxas kicks off his boots, and the entire suit is loose enough that Roxas can wriggle out of it. He sets it on the bed, well aware that he is merely in his undergarments.

"Honestly, if you ever decided to leave, I didn't think that we had stood a chance to stop you." Maleek says as he rubs his neck.

"Have you seen The Thirteen?" Roxas sarcastically asks.

"I'm serious. I mean, you were – are – the greatest. I thought you would have slaughtered us by now."

"I'm not like that. Well, not anymore." Roxas murmurs as he wanders over to the end table, were he had packed a spare set of loose pants and a night shirt. He can feel Maleek's eyes upon him.

Maleek stares at the assassin in the candlelight. Those three large scars on his back mark their way from his right shoulder, and all the way down to the bottom of his spine. They ripple the flock of birds that fly across his shoulder blades.

He seems so different. When he had seen Roxas leave with the prince, and then noticed how Kain had followed shortly after, he couldn't understand the rage that arose up seeing it; didn't _want_ to understand that sort of anger. It wasn't jealousy, but something beyond it. Something that transformed his own teammates into someone else, someone he didn't know. Maleek knew that all member were aware that Roxas isn't a virgin. But it probably makes them more interested.

It was just something about the way Roxas can go from looking stoic and valiant, into a frail and broken boy. Maleek could see every tear he has cried, like an ocean in those turquoise eyes. All the pain and the scars have left him cold.

He can see all the fears Roxas has faced; like a storm that never goes away.

Even if he can't be _with_ Roxas, he wants to be there _for_ him.

Maleek sighs through his nose as he leans against the table.

Roxas faces him. His blood thrums in his veins. Maleek isn't looking at him the way he had this morning. There is something wary in his gaze – and something unspeakably sad. "What?"

"Your scars are awful." Maleek says, almost whispering.

Roxas' shoulders droop and he picks up the suit of armor. "We all bear scars, Maleek. Mine just happen to be more visible than most." Roxas does his best to fold the suit, setting it all on the console table.

Maleek approaches Roxas as he climbs into his big bed and yawns. He only has a few minutes. The moment his head hits the pillow, Roxas will be out.

"I brought you a present." Maleek feels immensely foolish, and for a moment considers running from Roxas' rooms. Still, he sits on the edge of the matress.

"A present?" he says, turning his head towards the captain and blinking in surprise.

"It's nothing; they were giving them out at the party. Just give me your hand." It was a lie – sort of. They had given them to the women of the nobility as favors, and he'd snagged one form the basket as it was passed around. Most of the women would never wear them – they would be tossed aside or given to a favorite servant.

"Let me see it." Roxas extends his arm.

Maleek fishes in his pockets and pulls out the gift. "Here." He places it in Roxas' palm.

Roxas examines it, his eyelids growing heavy as the soft and plushness of the bed surrounds him. "A ring." He puts it on. "How pretty." It is simple: crafted of silver, its only ornamentation lay in the fingernail-sized amethyst embedded in its center. The surface of the gem is smooth and round, and it gleams up at the assassin like a purple eye. "Thank you." Roxas says.

Maleek smiles at Roxas. He then clears his throat, his blusher fusing to fade. "Well I should go. I don't want to keep you any more awake."

"Will we be going to another run at dawn?" asks Roxas.

"You'll find out when I toss you off the bed." Maleek chuckles. He then heads down the steps and Roxas stares at the spot he occupied until he hears the doors to his chamber close.

Roxas looks back down at the ring on his finger. He had unknowingly put it on his ring finger, on top of the gold band that Axel had given him. His throat tightens. Suddenly he is thinking about what Axel had been doing the whole time Roxas was in the mines, for a whole year. Reno has his connection, why hadn't he informed the king sooner? The men didn't have contacts like his father's Guild, but still . . .

While Roxas knew that Axel was probably doing everything he could, it still angers him at how they hadn't been able to free him. And for some reason, after seeing Maleek and the way he had looked at him, Roxas doesn't want to reason with his anger.

He _wants_ to be unreasonable.

Maleek hasn't tried anything with him. That moment could've been the perfect opportunity for a kiss, and yet he didn't.

Though, Roxas kind of wishes he did.

He gives a disgruntled sigh and takes off the ring. He leans out to reach for his end table. He opens the top drawer and drops the ring inside.

The gold band winks at him in the moonlight as he shuts the drawer.


	37. Chapter 11 (Part Two)

For the next few days, not much has happened as The Thirteen await the arrival of the body that was discovered out by Koga Village.

Through those days, Roxas would get up early every morning before dawn to train and then be taken away with Maleek for their run, and then returning to the training chamber of the castle. They would train until lunch, of which then Roxas is sent back to his chambers; though Maleek would often join him whenever he was free. Not that Roxas minded, but ever since what Kain had said, the loneliness that comes with his enormous chambers has often tried creeping up on him like a snake in the grass.

He never dwelled on it much, as he tries to mostly occupy himself by either attaining his goal by reading all of the books in his personal library, or training within his room, using whatever he can to exercise.

Then the day came when the body had finally arrived to the castle. It came in the late afternoon. Roxas had been enjoying reading his books on his plush, cloudlike bed when one of the guards outside his room popped in and informed him.

And hour later, flanked by the guards of his room, Roxas held his chin high as they strode through the halls towards the lower recesses of the castle. He smiles at the young court women as they passed – and smirks at the young chevaliers who eyed his gold-and-white jacket. He can't blame them; the suit is spectacular. And he is spectacular in it. Even Kuja, who Roxas had run into in the halls, had said so. Naturally, Roxas had offered Kuja to walk with him.

Roxas smiles smugly to himself as he and Kuja nod to a passing nobleman, who raised his eyebrows at the sight of him. He was immediately pale, Roxas noticed as he opened his mouth to say something, but Roxas continued down the hall.

They have now entered a small archway at the end of the hall and descend a spiraling set of stairs. Roxas recognizes this as one of the servant's passages. They continue down further and further until Roxas thinks they are underground. He would complain about going too far beneath the castle, but he remembers how members of the Thirteen probably want it delivered in the most discreet way possible. Because what would the citizens think if they saw guards delivering a dead corpse to King Sephiroth's castle?

They enter a hallway of stone now, lit by torches dotting along the walls. It mimics a dungeon, but there are no iron bar doors, just a single door at the end. Roxas' steps quicken at the rumbling of arguing male voices that echo off the stones as they near it.

Hurrying farther, Roxas ignores the click of Kuja's tongue as he makes it to the door and pushes, not even bothering to knock. He knew that smell all too well. The tang of blood and the stinging reek of decomposing flesh.

But he hadn't expected the sight of it. "Half-eaten" was a pleasant way to describe what was left of the male's rail-thin body.

In the room, there is the rest of the Thirteen and King Sephiroth huddled around a metal table. The room is rectangular, and towards the back are more wooden desks with books and papers and pens scattered about it. A metal chandelier hangs over the metal table, the light concentrated on the body, revealing all the details it could.

Kuja curses under his breath as he brushes past Roxas and finds a place around the metal table. "Holy Gods." He mutters.

"Roxas," King Sephiroth says. Roxas is surprised to find him dressed in a black tunic that barely conceals his muscles. He expected the king to be wearing royal colors even if being down in a haggard place such as this. "I'm glad you made it. I trust that you have been caught up on the situation."

Roxas merely nods. Maleek approaches Roxas and places a light hand on his back, encouraging Roxas o keep walking. "Glad you can make it." Maleek says.

Roxas approaches the table and peers at the body, glad for not shifting into his Elven form, because the smell of the corpse was enough to make him cough.

It looked like the husks that he and Reno had found out in the forest, only this time, more damage has been done to the body even after it had been drained.

The chest cavity had been split open and his vital organs removed. Unless someone had moved them upon finding the body, there is no trace of them. And his long face, stripped of its flesh, is still contorted in a silent scream.

There is a hole in the crown of the male's head, and Roxas can see that his brain is gone, too.

Roxas tries not to gape at it. He swallows as he asks. "You think those rival bandits did it?"

Kain lifts his head from the body as he sensed the question being directed at him. "I do, and I still do."

Fool. Roxas shakes his head. "There's no way they could've done this." Roxas immediately denies. "The body looks like its life has been sucked out of it. Whatever – or whoever – had gotten to it afterwards, I don't know."

"How are you so sure that these bandits don't possess the ability of magic? It's quite common in this area." Vincent asks, tucked away in the corner, but still with a descent view of the body.

Heads turn to him briefly before Seymour speaks up. "Reports say that there were smears of blood on the wall at the crime scene. It looked like someone had been writing, and then rubbed it away." He says grimly. His big hand is covering another sheet of paper of the scene, sketched in pencil, and Roxas can see enough of it through Seymour's fingers so see the bloodied marks. Trail drool down the wall until it meets the smears. "I've seen it before, have you Roxas?"

Oh yes he has. When he had conveniently walked in on Zexion and Aerith when they had bene trying to summon . . . something. And then that's when he encountered his first Heartless. And then again when he had used his own blood to draw arcane marks to summon Ventus.

But this has nothing to do with magic at all. And Roxas remembers his encounter with this killer as crisp and as sharp as a knife.

He bites his tongue. He didn't think he would have to, or would need to tell them what he had seen so early. In fact, he had hoped he wouldn't have to at all, but the moment he had seen the husk of the male's body, images of the woman, and of the others came flooding back into his head, breaking past the barricade he had built to keep them contained.

Not only that, but his anger and hatred towards this creature also submerged to the surface and his drive to see this thing dead is what had caused his sudden outburst.

But instead, Roxas says. "If those bandits wanted to intimidate us or give a message, they would do it quick and clean – a slit throat, a knife in the heart, a poisoned glass of wine. This is just plain tasteless. Those marks you mentioned, it makes this something more than a brutal killing. Ritualistic, perhaps. So I won't deny that there's magic involve."

Perhaps this goes beyond just that creature he had encountered in the hollows. It was blackness, and it leaves behind the bodies as husks once it drains all of its life and powers. But as for the arcane markings, it extends past just merely absorbing power. If the marks are used as part of rituals, they need to find out what they are used for exactly. What magic could be used once the body has been drained?

And that's what Roxas says as he continues to observe the body. "I've encountered this creature before. It was in Lesalia, so it's concerning to see how far is has traveled. But . . . when I encountered it, it enveloped me in darkness." Roxas turns away from the body, not wanting to look at how _he_ could've turned out if he hadn't escaped. Everyone listens intently as he folds his arms and stares at his toes. "Everything felt the same; I could still feel the grass, smell the moisture in the air. There was just, darkness all around."

"What did you see?" Maleek asks softly as he takes delicate steps towards the assassin.

"It dragged me through my memories, quite literally; and it wasn't the pleasant ones." Roxas swallows as lump in his throat nearly cuts off. "And then my nose started to bleed, and my ears began to pound. And then the more I ran, I kept going through memory after memory, even ones I didn't know I had."

Members of the Thirteen listen closely, not interrupting once. All of their Elven eyes stare fixated on Roxas, and for some odd reason, he feels like the prey of a group of mountain lions.

"And when I finally broke through, my magic was out of control. I could feel it boiling and growing; scalding my throat. I screamed for my friend, Reno, and then I blacked out from the overwhelming magic."

"Do you think you might've just burned yourself out?" Seymour asks.

Roxas looks to him. "I what?"

"Every magic user has a breaking point. The burn out, it's when you overuse your power to the point where you literally, burn up from overuse." Cecil explains. "But if that were the case, I don't think you'd be here right now. Not many survive, as you can imagine."

Roxas looks back down the floor, staring at the toes of his boots. "I then woke up under the canopy of trees, and Reno was standing over me, making sure I was okay. After that, we went to a couple more towns to investigate, but the spots were still close to Ivalice."

"Do you think it might've followed you here?" Vincent suddenly asks.

While everyone's attention turns to him, Roxas swallows down his sudden hysteria. What if it _did_ follow him here? Does that makes these deaths all his fault? What if it liked his misery and wanted more? Was it searching for him?

Roxas was so lost in the thought, his panic rising that he barely hears Maleek when he says. "You're pale."

Roxas looks up and feels his cheeks. He takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Roxas, it's just a question."

"But what if it's true. It's plausible." Roxas admits, his voice suddenly cold. "Then all of these deaths could be my fault –"

"It's only been one so far." Maleek counters.

"The first of many." Roxas can see Laguna and Edge glare at Vincent, who shrugs his shoulders.

"Look Roxas, no one is blaming you. We're lucky to have you here because you survived it. And remember, this still could be a creation of the bandits, so let's just focus on them." Maleek says as he turns back towards the rest of the Thirteen. Maleek walks over to one of the desks in the back and brushes aside a couple papers before turning back. "We had gotten word that one of them is in the city. Reason why, we're still unsure. But there's no doubt he'd be looking for a fight."

"Unless he just needs a drink and supplies." Laguna smirks.

"He and his bandits know Valendia is our territory. If he dares sets foot in the city, I saw we cut it off." Speaks one of the members that Roxas doesn't remember. It's the one with the hawk-curved nose and his affinity for knives.

"We're not just some lowlife thugs." Vincent says, he then turns to Roxas. "No offense."

Something about his comment rubs Roxas the wrong way, and he narrows his eyes. "I'm from an Assassin's Guild, smartass. We're smart, clean and respected. Bandits merely think for gold."

"And you didn't?" Vincent challenges.

Roxas gives a smile with sweet venom. "My father had his money, and me and his men spent most of our lives in luxury. But I won't bore you with the details as I'm sure they're far out of your knowledge of understanding."

Vincent narrows his eyes now, and pushes off the column he was leaning against and gets ready to approach Roxas, but Kain actually blocks him with his Holy Lance. The two of them exchange a glaring match for the ages. But then Vincent sighs, shoving away the weapon and glares at Roxas before leaning back against the column.

" _Anyway_ ," Maleek interjects. "We're sending out just a small number since it's nothing we can't handle."

"What you know about your enemy can be dangerous to him. What you think you know, it can be dangerous to you." King Sephiroth quotes. All heads turn to him. Roxas had forgotten he was even there. He almost wants to bow in apologies.

"What are you saying, Your Highness? That we should all go?" Cecil asks. Even in this limited light, his pearl white armor seems to give a heavenly glow.

"I don't doubt your skills, my son. But understand that I do worry." King Sephiroth says, placing his hands on the shoulders of both Cecil and Laguna.

"Your Majesty, we are not children." Edge says rolling his eyes.

"But you are like my children. You all know this. We have been together since we were all younglings. You are my family and my friends; and I will say this to you over and over: Please, be careful."

"Yes Your Majesty." Everyone but Roxas murmurs, the sound blending all together.

With that, the king nods to the group of Elven warriors and heads for the door. He stops just before Roxas. The assassin's heart skips a beat. Not knowing what to do or say, he simply bows and says. "I'll be careful, Your Majesty."

Roxas hears snickers from some of the members as he rises, but he merely clears his throat. Still King Sephiroth stares at him, and then Roxas can see it – that same exact sadness, that dreadfully, aching sadness he had seen in Maleek.

And he wasn't prepared for what the King did next.

His Highness lifts his hand and actually caresses Roxas' face. Roxas stiffens, trying his best to refrain from pulling back and masking his shock. He feels that anything he does will show signs of his nervousness: a swallow, an exhale through the nose, taking a deep breath, or even blinking.

So he stands as still as a statue and simply focuses on the odd warmth that he feels emanating from King Sephiroth's hand. Roxas blinks as the king's thumb strokes his cheek. The sadness doesn't go away, but Roxas watches it retreat behind a cold wall in his eyes. Gainsborough eyes.

Gods, it's scary to actually stare into them – because they're _his_ eyes. A stunning turquoise with a core of gold as bright as their hair. Their hair – the only difference between them, although, sometimes from certain angles and when in certain lighting, Roxas' could've been the same shade.

"Please come back safely." King Sephiroth mumbles. Roxas felt unnerved when he thought he saw the king's eyes glisten. Before he can get a better look, the king blinks and leaves the room without as much as a single goodbye.

Roxas stares after him until he is swallowed up by the guards that follow after him in his wake. He then turns to the other members, Cecil starting to drape a tarp over the husk of a body. His eyes fall on Maleek. "What was that about?"

Maleek, who was scribbling down coordinates on a map, looks to Roxas, then the door where the king had vacated, and then back at Roxas. He gives a mere shrug of his shoulders. "Don't know. His Highness can be a little emotional at times."

Roxas looks back towards the path and sighs. Something seemed, different; and it was in the way he had looked at Roxas. Still, Roxas has no choice to leave it as he turns to Maleek. "So what do we do now?"

"Well, some of us have to prep the body for burial, meanwhile, you need to prep for your trip to the village. You excited? It'll be your first trip out of the castle." Maleek grins.

Roxas rolls his eyes but follows the captain out while Seymour and Cecil stay behind with body to examine it further.

He and Maleek are the last ones out as the group file up the stairs to the first floor.

"So who will I be with?" Roxas asks.

"I've decided to group you with Laguna, Edge, myself, and Vincent."

"Very well. I should've known you would be coming along." Roxas sighs as the group slowly starts to divide. Kain and Edge go down one hallway, Kuja and Laguna another and Vincent simply takes the lead on his own. If he is listening, he sure doesn't show any care.

"That should be a given by now." Maleek grins, elbowing Roxas in the ribs.

The assassin returns it, smiling as he manages to get past Maleek's arm, intended on guarding his middle.

For a moment, they walk in silence; Roxas attention drifting to the way Vincent's long, ebony hair sways opposite with his steps. And then Roxas frowns. "What if it really is my fault this thing is here?"

He hears Maleek sigh in annoyance at the rebuttal. "Roxas –"

"You can't deny that it's all coincidental." Roxas immediately interjects. "You've had no problems until I arrive."

"That's not true." Maleek shakes his head. "This has been going on even while you were in Gollund Mines."

Vincent carefully angles his head slightly, barely peering over his shoulder.

"In fact, it's been more of a problem ever since your trial." Maleek sighs. "Now I will tell you the truth. The attacks were numerous beforehand, and yet, when you were went to Gollund, things degraded for a short time, and then it had gotten worse." Roxas' eyes widen as he stares at Maleek. "Bodies by the thrice were showing up scattered about. We didn't see a definite pattern, kind of like it was desperate and just left the corpse to move on."

 _It_ was _looking for me_. _It was desperate because I was like a treasure chest of gold_.

"And now that I'm out?" Roxas dares himself to ask.

"Reports have stayed the same." Maleek says. "Please know, I do understand what had happened to you when you faced it, and I'm throwing every bit of caution into this by sending you out."

Roxas doesn't bother saying that he'll be fine. Because he won't. It's not that he's afraid of finding or facing the creature – he has enough anger and hatred to smother his fear. It's just, this creature has done a decent job at being unpredictable and anonymous. These bandits might not even be related with it, but still, he is itching for something to do until the Thirteen decides to head out to Koga Village.

"I appreciate that." Is all Roxas says before he excuses himself as they pass a familiar adjacent hallway, and he sees the Galtea guards posted in front of the prince's room.

After knocking on the doors two times, the prince answers and smiles when he beholds Roxas. After a simple exchange, the prince was more than happy to join the assassin on a walk in the castle gardens.

They walk among the rose-dotted hedges, and Roxas can't help but smiles. The clinking of the prince's guards' armor sounds as they remain two steps behind them. It surprised Roxas that the roses were still in bloom in this time of the season. Then again, Valendia does get a majority of summer weather.

They pass a small line of neatly-trimmed bushes and Roxas brushes his fingertips against the soft petals. Beside him, Kiros chuckles. Roxas turns to the prince. "What?"

"You have this kind of fascination in your eyes when you look at flowers." Kiros smiles.

Roxas' cheeks flush, but he smiles too. He has reason to appreciate even the tiniest of beauty that might go unnoticed by everyone else. Being in a mine where the only color is of brown of filth and stone, and the red of blood, seeing something else, something different, it makes him appreciate the beauty in everything. No matter how twisted the world it belongs in.

Roxas turns to the prince. "Don't you have an admiration for small things?"

"I will admit, I do. Even I am not above a bit of attachment." The prince says in the common tongue, his Galtea accent slightly less thick.

"Oh!" Roxas exclaims, smiling. "That was very good! One lesson, and you're already putting me to shame!" Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said of Roxas' Galtea.

Kiros beams. "They do look beautiful." He says in Galtea.

"And the lovely sunset does help." Roxas says. There are twelve of them all together, forming a large circle around a solitary fountain. Each of them were colored different color of the rainbow. Even though Roxas had only seen a few of rainbows in his time, they bring a smile to his face instantly. The idea of seeing the colors, the way it arches over the sky. "So, what did you make of the Thirteen, I don't believe I've asked you."

"They are incredible." Kiros says buoyantly, and heads towards the hedges that border the courtyard. "They are just as domineering as I had been told." He adds over his shoulder. "Though I did expect a few to be taller."

Roxas pulls his cloak tighter around him as he follows after the prince. Snow still start falling in a matter of days, bringing them closer to Samhain – and the visit to Koga Village, still two months away from what Kain had discreetly informed Roxas. He savors the heat from his cloak, remembering all too well the winter he'd spent in Gollund Mines. Winter was unforgiving when you lived in the shadow of Germinas Mountains. It was a miracle he hadn't gotten frostbite. If he went back, another winter might kill him.

"You look troubled, my friend." Kiros says when Roxas reaches his side, and puts a hand on his arm.

"I'm fine." Roxas says in Galtea, smiling for Kiros' sake. "I don't like winter."

"I've never seen snow." Kiros says, looking at the sky. "I wonder how long the novelty will last."

"Hopefully long enough for you to not mind the drafty corridors, freezing morning, and days without sun."

Kiros laughs. "You should come to Galtea with me when I return – and make sure you stay long enough to experience one of our blistering summers. _Then_ you'll appreciate your freezing mornings and days without sun."

Roxas had already spent one blistering summer in the heat of the Zeklaus Desert, but to tell Kiros that would only invite difficult questions. Instead, he says: "I would love to see Galtea very much."

Kiros' gaze lingers on Roxas' brow for a moment before he grins. "Then it shall be so."

Roxas' eyes brighten, and he tilts his head back so he can see the castle looming above them. "I hope the Thirteen had managed to give that unnamed body a proper burial."

"My bodyguards tell me that the man was . . . very violently killed."

"To say the least." Roxas murmurs, watching the shifting colors of the fading sun turn the castle gold and red and blue. Despite the ostentatious nature of the glass castle, he has to admit that it _does_ look rather beautiful at times.

"You saw the body? My guards weren't allowed close enough."

Roxas nods slowly. "I'm sure you don't want to know the details."

"Indulge me." Kiros presses, smiling tightly.

Roxas raises an eyebrow. "Well – I only saw pictures, but . . . there was blood smeared everywhere. On the walls, on the floor."

"Smeared?" Kiros says, his voice dropping into a hush. "Not splattered?"

"I think so. Like someone had rubbed it on there. There were a few magical arcane marks painted, but most had been rubbed away." He shook his head at the image that arose. "And the man's body was missing its vital organs – like someone had split him open from neck to navel, and – I'm sorry, you look like you're going to be ill. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No. Keep going. What else was missing?"

Roxas pauses for a moment before saying: "His brain. Someone had made a hole in the top of his head, and his brain was gone. And the skin from his face had been ripped off."

Kiros nods, staring at a barren bush in front of them. The prince chews on his bottom lip, and Roxas notes that his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides of his long, white cape. A cold breeze blew past them, making Kiros' multitude of fine, thin braids sway. The gold woven into his braids clink softly.

"I'm sorry." Roxas says. "I should've have –"

A step falls behind them, and before Roxas can whirl, a female voice says: "Sir Tobias."

Roxas immediately freezes. His tenses as a simple servant of the castle comes to stand next to them. She is slightly breathless, her exhales turning into tendrils in front of her face, her cheeks flushed red. She bows in front of Roxas, who is very much aware of Kiros' narrowed eyes and mouth slightly agape in question.

He would've gutted the servant right there, but that would only provoke the prince's guards to attack. And truthfully, she doesn't deserve it. She didn't know. He doesn't dare look at Kiros, and only hopes his understanding of the common language is still weak enough for him not to have understood.

"Sir, the other members are ready to depart to the city."

Roxas tries his best to keep his face stern. "Ah yes, very well. P-Please, take me to them immediately."

"Rox –"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." Roxas immediately interjects the prince. He bows low, his face flushed and his eyes welling up. When he rises, he looks the prince straight in the eyes and hopes, prays, that he will understand and allow Roxas to explain himself when he returns. "I'm so, _so_ sorry. But I must be off on my mission of investigation. Might I stop by your chambers when I return?" Roxas says in Galtea.

 _Please, please_. Roxas begs.

Kiros blinks a few times, sighs through his nose and squares his shoulders, chin high. His face grows stern, masking his confusion and hurt with a face of damning superiority and practiced control of his regal classes in Galtea. He is fighting off a scowl, but his nostrils flare. "If I can find the time, _Sir Tobias_." he says with perfect pronunciation in the common tongue.

 _Or the care_ , is what he doesn't have to say, as Roxas can see it as the prince's eyes burn through his soul.

With that, the prince turns away and the guards follow after towards the opposite end of the hedges. They flank the prince, blocking Roxas' view. His cheeks flush with embarrassment and his throat tightens with hurt.

The prince doesn't look back.

"Sir Tobias." The servant chimes.

Roxas flinches at the name and nearly scowls when he turns to her. But he quickly forces his face to slack and sighs. "Yes, yes. Please, take me to them." He says with a wave of his hand.

The servant scurries off ahead and Roxas follows with heavy footsteps. His hands tremble. He hadn't intended to tell Prince Kiros his reasons for being here because he hadn't intended on him finding out. Clearly, Laguna had introduced him as himself, but hadn't given reasons as to why. Kiros hadn't bother to ask questions, but now . . . now he will, that if he ever wishes to see Roxas again after his deception.

As Roxas follows the servant and nods to her as she holds the door open for him. He continues to follow her silently, nodding to her whenever she looked back.

But all the while, he can't stop picturing the prince in his chambers. Probably sitting on an elegant divan with a scowl on his face, hands folded in his lap. Probably damning Roxas for his secrecy, thinking Roxas is just like every other secretive, deceitful, and ignorant fool in this castle.

Roxas' eyes sting as he spots the double doors up head.


	38. Chapter 12 (Part Two)

Squat behind a chimney on the roof of the lower market, Roxas peers his head around the corner to view a local pub of the slums. He checks his pocket watch for the third time.

Even if Valendia if a prosperous city, it is still a capital city and it wasn't hard to find its underbelly of slums, and brothels and filthy taverns.

Sewage and puddles of excrement lay beneath every window of the slums, and the cobblestone streets are cracked and misshapen after many hard winters. The buildings lean against each other, some so ramshackle that even the poorest citizens have abandoned them. On most streets, the taverns overflow with drunks and whores and everyone else who sought temporary relief from their miserable lives.

After the briefing with the Thirteen, Roxas, Maleek, Laguna, Edge and Vincent set out towards the slums to try and locate the alleged bandit from that rival group out in Koga Village.

They've stuck to the shadows, Vincent and Edge living well up to their reputation as The Shadows, immediately vanishing into any sliver of darkness; as they have been trained since infancy. To anyone else, Edge and Vincent would've been invisible, but for Roxas, just a mere squint of the eyes and he could see their darkened outline. He suppressed a chuckle as they leap from roof to roof until they reached their location. Perhaps _he_ should look for attaining the title of The Shadows.

Roxas was fairly impressed for how the Thirteen's members managed to stalk through the streets so, skillfully. When he was leaping across the roofs with them, he almost felt as if he was back in his Father's Guild with Riku and Vanitas and Xion. He had expected them to be, well . . . clumsy. With the armor they wear in addition to the many belts and straps of weapons, each making them a walking armory –

But no, they kept up fine, leaping as nimbly as cats, and slinking as smooth as snakes. Roxas was more than impressed, and none of them even bothered to shift into their animal forms.

Instead of wearing the clunky armor that was remade from Reno's suit, Roxas wears instead an attire of complete ebony. Something to bring him back to his days of an assassin. He might as well admit it, he misses the rush that comes with what his occupation. And to his surprise, Maleek didn't protest when Roxas emerged from his chambers, a thick black cape billowing behind him. Most likely because Roxas was covered from head to toe, and the only thing exposed was his eyes.

Everything he wears is an enhancement of the killing potential that lies beneath. It is present in his strong jaw, in the slope of his eyebrows, in the perfect stillness of his form. He is a honed blade made by his father for his own profit. Roxas is a predatory animal – a mountain lion or a dragon – and his markings of power are everywhere.

They needed to be discreet on this mission as no one is to know that the Thirteen are in the city, in turn it could drive off the lone bandit. So they stick with the darkness that surrounds them, though Laguna decided to go undercover as a simple citizen.

As he checks around the chimney for his fifth time in the passing of two minutes, he tries to keep an eye out for any signs of glinting metal behind cloaks, darker clothing with masks and to see someone look over their shoulder.

Peering across the streets, Roxas lifts his head and narrows his eyes, managing to make out Maleek's shadow behind another chimney. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Roxas makes a near perfect imitation of a mockingbird. Maleek replies back with two tweets. Nothing yet. Nothing suspicious.

Down on the streets, Roxas can see Laguna talking it up with a woman who is running a textiles booth a block down. His civilian attire consists of a medium blue jacket with white studs and grooves, white undershirt, brown pants, black boots and dog tags. The woman laughs as Laguna examines a silk square, and then a one of velvet. The woman seemed a little stunned to see Laguna out in the open, but only because his pointed ears and sharpened canines were exposed. After she warmed up, she treated him like any other customer, the two of them sharing a laugh. And then Laguna cocks his head up.

Roxas immediately follows the Elven man's stare, feeling his head turn in sync with the other Elven warriors.

Then he spots it. He sees a figure walk towards the front entrance of the building, guarded by a burly man with tattoo sleeves on both arms and coated in clothes of ebony. The figure has a dark colored cloak on, but just as he enters the tavern, caught in the glimpse of something in the golden light. Metal; weapons.

The man nods to the burly guard outside the door and enters in no problem. Another clue: he must be a regular. Comes often enough that the guard recognizes him. How often does he make his visits to the Royal City?

Immediately Roxas hears Maleek's birdcall to the group and Roxas ducks further behind the chimney. Slowly he peers out from the alleyway and finds nothing. The guard at the front door keeps turning his head from side to side as shadows slide down the walls and disappear into the alleys.

Roxas watches, counts as the members appear from the alleys and make their way towards the doors. They come one after another, setting five to seven minutes in between one another to avoid suspicion. They pay the guard a decent amount of coin to let them in without questions.

Laguna.

Vincent.

Edge.

And Maleek.

Then the time comes for Roxas to make his own entrance. He slithers his way across the roof and shimmies down a drainpipe and into the alley. He checks both left and right before adjusting his cloak and cowl before approaching the light.

Slinking his way inside, one can find the cutthroats, the monsters, and the damned of Valendia. The filth come here to exchange stories and make deals, and it is here that any whisperer of the missing people and husk bodies will be found.

Roxas remembers that his father had brought him to similar places like this a few times back when he was younger. It had scared Roxas deeply when he was younger, but once he learned of his father's dark power and the reputation he held back then, he soon walked in with his head held high and proud, even if it he too wanted to be somewhere else.

He heads down the steps into the speakeasy, the reek of ale and unwashed bodies hit him like a stone to the face.

The main chamber is strategically lit: a chandelier in the center of the room, but there is little light to be found along the walls for those who sought not to be seen. Roxas can immediately find The Thirteen members scattered about, already managing to strike up conversations with some of the tenants. All laughter halts as Roxas he strode between the tables. Red-rimmed eyes following his every step.

And cloaked in darkness, Roxas stalks inside. He makes no sound as he passes through the threshold. Donned in his black armored uniform, he steps into the bar. The cape billows behind him, his face remaining expressionless beneath his obsidian mask as he moves towards the bar counter.

It makes no difference how many see him. None will bother him tonight.

The barkeep is already pale, his sparse hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. He tries to peer beneath peer beneath Roxas' cowl as he halts at the bar, but the mask and hood keep his features hidden.

"Drink?" the barkeep asks, wiping sweat from his brow. Everyone in the bar is still watching him, either discreetly or outright.

"No." Roxas says, his voice is contorted and deep beneath his mask.

The barkeep grips the edge of the counter. "You – you're back" he says quietly, as more heads turn. "You escaped."

So he did recognize Roxas, then. Roxas spins the glass in a circle in his hand. "Escaped" is the word that could start turning this tavern into a mad house. Already Roxas is contemplating how many bodies he'd leave in his wake if they decided to start a fight right here, right now.

Roxas leans on the bar, crossing one ankle of the other. The barkeep mops his brow again and pours him a brandy. "On the house," he says, sliding it to Roxas. He catches it in his hand, but doesn't drink it. The barkeep wets his lips. "How – how did you escape?"

People lean back in their chairs, straining to hear. Let them spread rumors. Let them hesitate before crossing his path. He hopes that his mother hears, too. He hopes she hears and stays the hell away from him.

"You'll soon discover that," Roxas says. "But I have need of you."

His brows lift. "Me?"

"I have come to inquire after a man." Roxas' voice is scratchy and hollow. "A man who has recently come into the city. He goes by the name of Clayton. I need to know where he is."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The barkeep's face turns even paler.

Roxas reaches into a pocket and pulls out a glittering fistful of gold. A mere eighth of his pay for the week. All eyes watched them now.

"Allow me to repeat my question, barkeep."

"No need." A voice speaks behind them.

Roxas looks over his shoulder and finds the man he was hoping to gain the attention of. Turning to him, the barkeep takes back the brandy drink. With a sweep of his arm, the gold is off the counter.

The man is cloaked in black like Roxas, only his attire and cloak seem to ripple red in the limited light. He is very tall man, and under his hood he has thinning hair as well as a pencil thin mustache. Roxas can already see two duel swords with long curved blades and a gleaming snake etched into its gold pommel.

Roxas purposely laughs tauntingly. "I'm not sure whether to laugh or to spit." he snarls.

"I'd watch your tongue, boy." The man replies with a narrow of his eyebrows.

"I would if I knew you'd be a challenge."

The man's gloved hands clench. One slightly twitches towards the hilt of his swords, but lowers. Roxas doesn't need to kill him, not yet. He just needs to taunt enough that he can piece more of the plan together. Hopefully they'll be that stupid.

"Well, I might as well admit it," Clayton says as he takes a daring step forward. That enough makes the people sitting near bolt out of his way. "I am personally honored to be in the presence of Kingdom Heart's most notorious assassin."

Roxas swallows. They knew, but it sounds like they don't know why he is here. "As you should be. It was made sure that no one, not even your prosperous continent was safe from my shadow."

"Especially considering that you were sent to the Gollund Mines – for life. What happened? Did even they grow tired of you?" Clayton pushes. His keenness would make any assassin proud.

"I tired of them." Is all Roxas answers with.

"And yet you chose to stay in Valendia instead of sailing back off to Kingdom Hearts. Why? Some unfinished business?"

"My business is mine. It is none of your concern." Roxas immediately snaps. His voice rose, and in turn a few of the tavern members flinched, some hunching further into themselves. Even Clayton was surprised. Roxas had to admit, the man was well-trained. "A better question would be as to why you're here. From what I've learned, you're a long way from Koga Village."

Clayton's eyebrows twitch ever so slightly, giving all Roxas needs to know of his surprise. The man composes himself but swallows, another sign of nervousness. Roxas deviously grins as the man says. "And how do I owe the honor of getting and keeping your attention, Mister Skyes?"

Roxas can't let them know that he is here on business with The Thirteen; let alone let them know that he's _part_ of The Thirteen. If word gets back to the bandits that one of their own was killed by Roxas Skyes, a member of the Thirteen, it'll provoke them to some to the Royal City and possibly bring their new creature weapons with them. That and Roxas' cover will be blown, because as far as he is aware, everyone still thinks he is stuck in the Gollund Slave Mines. Well, everyone outside the tavern. He'll have to come back and bribe the barkeep, but he doesn't know what to do with the other inhabitants . . . yet.

It'd be better if they believed Clayton was killed by means of Guild business, than of the Thirteen. As Maleek has told him over and over, they don't kill without good reason. But as far as Roxas is concerned, having Clayton's tongue wagging about how he is still in the city is a good enough reason to have him die.

Roxas just hopes that the others will stay out of the fight. At least until they are away from prying eyes of the public.

So Roxas merely smiles as he adjusts his arm under his cloak, reaching for a dagger. "I've been searching for some entertainment."

He barely finishes his sentence, barely manages to bring up his forearm – protected with a steel vambrace – to block his face as the Clayton's dagger readies to slice at his nose. Roxas' free hand manages to grab a dagger from his belt and parry Clayton's next stab for his eye.

The people in the tavern squeak and scramble out of the way as the brawl begins. They cower in the corners and the barkeep ducks behind the counter.

Roxas pulls forth another dagger and he sidesteps out of the way of Clayton's oncoming kick and slices a cut along Clayton's calf before spinning and goes to slash at his side. But Clayon blocks it with his short sword and their metal clangs against one another before Clayton's fist plows into Roxas' jaw.

Pain crackles along the side of his face, traveling up his temple and around his skull. Roxas' back slams into the wall but he keeps his sense in check as he ducks under the next punch armed with a spiked knuckle brace. But the next one comes striking like a viper at his side and Roxas stumbles back, clashing with a table set. Blood dribbles down his chin and Roxas can sense the throbbing pain of his split lip.

As Clayton charges Roxas grabs a chair and swings it towards Clayton as he swings his spiked mace. The collision sounds with a bone-shaking rumble and Roxas can feel the power of the man as he's sent flying backwards, through the closed tavern door and into the street, the chair flying next to him. Roxas' stomach clenches as he catches the waft of charred wood and his back aches with the feeling of splinters impaling his spine.

 _On your feet_ , Roxas commands to himself.

Pushing to his feet, Roxas looks over his shoulder, and his eyes wide as he finds Clayton's mace glowing. The head of the weapon flickers and spits with fire.

"What do you know of the husk bodies being found in The Orient?" Roxas commands.

Clayton's confused look is all Roxas needs to gather to know that they have nothing to do with the creature and its scattering of bodies.

"Bodies? Strange that be. But I'm afraid I'm not your man."

Roxas can tell that he is telling the truth. He wouldn't have anything to gain by lying. They don't know anything.

But still, Roxas can't have him running about blabbering that Kingdom Heart's Assassin is free from Gollund and roaming about. For some reason, Roxas thinks that it will interfere with his discreet identity back at the castle. Kiros is already upset with him.

And yet, Maleek said that no one really knew who Roxas Skyes was except that he is male and much older. And yet by now, Roxas would fit those qualifications of his assumed reputation.

It would seem that because they can't see his face, other aspects of Roxas: his attire and his demeanor, is what notifies people of who he is.

Clayton comes up behind him, but Roxas spins and strikes him with a roundhouse kick. Stumbling back, Clayton blocks Roxas' coming punches and kick to the shoulder.

"You had better be telling the truth, or I won't leave anything for them to bury you!"

"I know nothing! I have better things to do than wonder why husks of demi-elves are being found in places!"

Clayton then spins under Roxas' blade of his dagger and kicks the blond assassin in the stomach. Roxas is sent skipping back, but he's on his feet before he even finishes rolling. Clayton sets his mace aflame, turns it once, and then swings. Fire explodes as if from the mouth of a dragon. The fire swarms over Roxas' cloak, setting it aflame.

Roxas wastes no time, jumping backwards and slicing off his cloak where it attaches to the clasps atop his shoulders.

As Clayton plows for him, Roxas takes two long strides before leaping up and kneeing Clayton in the jaw, then kicking him in the neck. He's sent twirling in the air and crashing into a wooden crate of a wheelbarrow.

Roxas this time charges forward in a sprint as Clayton groans and struggles to his feet. The blond assassin crosses his arms and hurls forward. He feels the air leave Clayton's stomach as his arms hit his sternum. The force jerks the wheelbarrow forward and down a slight incline of the road. As it gains momentum, Roxas punches Clayton left and right before pushing off his feet, leaping into the air as the wheelbarrow crashes into an open-ended carriage of cabbage and potatoes.

Drawing two slender-bladed daggers, Roxas spins and dives down like a bird of prey. He spins downwards, but only slices at a sack of spuds. Then Clayton's foot swipes like a snake, knocking out Roxas' feet. Roxas doesn't even his the ground before Clayton's knee rams into his stomach and then he locks his hands together and whacks them at Roxas' face like his mace. Pain crackles along his cheek, shattering his thoughts, and black dots fill his vision. Warmth dribbles down his chin and Roxas knows his nose is bleeding. His back aches and throbs and the urge to vocalize the pain grows more.

He rolls along the stone, sliding to a stop at the base of a street oil lamp; citizens taking attention. Roxas summersaults backwards as Clayton comes running now with a dagger in each hand. Roxas stands and steps out of the way, the two of them dance down the street. As Clayton's hands go to stab for his face, large hands grab both of his wrists and swings him to the ground.

Looking up, Roxas finds Maleek. Some of the town's people gasp and scream, quickly evacuating the area. Hopefully they'll think members of The Thirteen came to help him. Despite the dent it would put in Roxas' reputation, he doesn't do anything to stop him.

"Glad you came." Roxas says, his voice hoarse.

"Not like it'd let oyu have all the fun."

Wrenching the two daggers away Maleek slices off two of the armored belts on Clayton's and as he goes to stab the man in the chest, Clayton grabs his wrist and spins swinging Maleek into the lamppost, denting its shaft. Whacking him to the ground, Clayton's raises his foot and goes to stomp in Maleek's face.

But then Clayton is tackled from the side by Vincent. They tumble down the street and Vincent pins Clayton beneath him. He punches Clayton left and right, and then grabs him by the shirt, lifting him like nothing more than a twig. Vincent snarls as he brings his legs up kicking Clayton farther down the street. Laguna helps Roxas to his feet.

"You just love causing mischief, don't you?" Laguna grins at him.

"It's one of my better qualities." Roxas replies.

Clayton crashes into a flower stand and they sprinkle all around and on him. He growls as he staggers to one knee. Roxas finds the flaming mace on the ground and quickly sprints, gripping it and raising it above his head. He manages to make it to Clayton before he pushes to his feet, and Roxas swings it once, twice . . . as he goes for the third swing, Clayton's arm whips out and whacks at Roxas, sending him back and crashing into the wooden post of a clothing store.

Roxas stifles a cry of pain and opens his eyes to find Clayton there again and the next thing he feels is his back crashing through the wooden post and sailing through the air and plunging into the fountain located in the main Square. Throwing his head back, gasping for breath, Roxas can see the water stained with red from the blood seeping into his mask.

Taking the risk, Roxas rips away the cowl and hood and jumps, pushing it against Clayton's face as he goes for another close attack. Roxas swings himself over the man with the cowl and hood, swinging him over and into the cobblestone. Even as Clayton quickly gets to his feet, Roxas delivers an uppercut to his face before spinning and kicking him in the chest.

Clayton draws the slenderest dagger from his belt and goes to deliver the deathblow, but out of nowhere, Edge grabs his wrist and pushes him away. Punching him left and right, the silver-haired assassin dodges Clayton's swipe of his dagger and goes and elbows the man. Edge then spins and swings his leg into Clayton's head, taking the man's arm as he falls and whirling him up through the air and into the upper level of an abandoned warehouse.

Roxas looks to Edge. "Thanks." He breathes. The Elven warrior merely winks.

Roxas advances towards the location where Clayton crashed as Maleek, Vincent and Laguna comes walking in.

He huffs his breath as he carefully treks towards the building. He makes it through the threshold and finds it vacant; small glints of moonlight leak in through the crevices of the wooden building and its limited windows. The place was already slated for demolition. Holes in the ceiling, the walls were weak; not even the floor was stable enough to withstand weight no bigger than a hundred pounds.

To be honest, he hopes the man fled. His body is sore, his head positively aches, and at any moment Roxas fears he will pass out from exhaustion. He is afraid to even lean left and right in fear of snapping his spine. With his mask and cowl gone, he needs to try and keep the battle within the shadows. Most of the citizens had fled the scene once they knew of the dark battle taking place, but he can't rule out a few stragglers who possibly stayed to watch.

Just as Roxas looks up and notices a hold in the ceiling, a dark figure comes crashing down and Roxas rolls out of the way, but into a table of shoes on display.

He turns to face Clayton and watches the man freeze. "You . . . You're . . . What sort of trickery is this?"

Roxas draws his sword and raises it. "Roxas Skyes, at your service."

Clayton is still staring at him, his face pale with rage. "How _dare_ you deceive me?"

The blonde assassin sketches a bow. "I did no such thing. You heard the rumors. You knew I was handsome."

As Clayton barrels towards him, spinning dainty daggers with dizzying speed, Roxas lifts swings the table only to hear it get sliced in half. Clayton not even stumbling. Roxas brings forward Oblivion and feels the air ridding impact of their collision and he's once again pinned to a wall.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty." Roxas grunts.

Clayton snarls, and as he lifts his one arm to deliver a deathblow, Roxas snaps out his hand to grab a long heeled shoe over his left shoulder. He then jabs it into Clayton's eye and the man screams and bolts back, snapping the heel from the shoe itself.

Roxas pushes off of him and whacks Clayton with his mace he took, and in a smooth motion, he sheaths the weapon, draws his bow and aims an explosive bolt straight at Clayton's chest. The bolt consisting of a combustive compound made by the castle's alchemist.

Releasing the string, the arrow launches and lands true at Clayton, exploding on impact and sending the assassin crashing into another stack of wooden storage crates. Roxas runs forward and beats Clayton left and right with the bow itself and sending him crashing through one of few windows of the building.

They both fall from the second floor and Roxas lands on his feet atop of Clayton, intending him further into the gold and white carriage that awaited them below.

Clayton's eyes struggle to open, and Roxas feels irk as he sees the assassin smirk. "Not bad, you certainly hold up to your title."

"Excuse me if I'm not appreciative of your compliment." Roxas snarls. He then breaks the steel mace alone his knee, then draws a dagger from his belt, spinning it between his fingers and raises it high. "Any last words before I dump your remains into the sewers?"

"Just why?" Clayton snarls. "Why did you target me, what did I ever do? I could've payed you double easily to let me live."

"I didn't want money, I just wanted information."

"I would've told you willingly."

"No you wouldn't have."

"You don't think I noticed? I saw the members of the Thirteen. You're working for them! They must've sprung you from the mines for your help. Ha! They must be growing desperate. What do you have that they could want? Why not just hire some other well-known assassin?"

Roxas coldly smiles and leans his face in close enough to the man to kiss him. The assassin then shifts into his Elven form. His ears grow and point, his teeth sharpening. The tips poke under his lip. Clayton grows pale. Paler than death.

Roxas' lips peel back into a ravenous smile; animalistic, wild. His eyes grow wide, his pupils thinning into slits. "I'm special." He whispers.

Faster than Clayton can react, Roxas jabs his dagger down into his chest. The man shudders, and Roxas watches his eyes grow distant as he twists the dagger before yanking it out.

He watches the man slump into the dented roof of the carriage.

Checking his perimeter, he finds no onlookers who witnessed the showdown. He doesn't have time to chop up the body into bits, but enough to loot it for extra weapons – including that flaming mace. Jumping down from the carriage, she shifts back as a mortal as rushing footsteps come toward him. Maleek, Edge, Vincent, and Laguna are running towards him.

One look at Roxas' bloodied clothes is all they need before they disappear into the shadows together.

Roxas had enough sense to snatch a cloak off a drunk dozing on a corner and wipe the blood from his face, even though it takes several tries to keep his hands steady as he ran. Once the cloak conceals his ruined clothes, he and the members of the Thirteen make for the main gates of the castle grounds – where the guards recognized them, though the lights are too dim for them to look closely.

Roxas' head throbs and his bloodied lip hurts like a bitch. He just has to get inside, get to safety . . .

But he stumbles on the straight road into the castle courtyard, and his run turns into a staggering walk before he even gets to the castle itself. Maleek's familiar, muscular arm is already there, holding him up.

They can't go in the front like this, not unless they wants everyone to see.

Maleek seems to understand this and Roxas hears him say: "You three go through the front."

All Roxas hears in response is the whispering of clothes.

The pain throbs with every step he takes as he and Maleek disappear under a shadowy alcove heading for the servants back entrance through the courtyard. Not the best place, but good enough. Hopefully the castle was smart enough to have mystical healers.

 _One foot in front of the other. Just a little further_ . . .

He doesn't remember getting to the servant's doors, only the coolness of the metal studs as he pushes them open. The light of the hall burns his eyes, but at least he's inside.

The door to the mess hall is open, and the sounds of laughter and clinking mugs float towards him. At least his body still has feeling.

One hand braced against the wall, the other holding his cloak tightly around him, Roxas and Maleek slip past the mess hall, every breath lasting a lifetime. No one stops them, no one even looks at them.

There is one door down this hall that he has to reach – one room where they'd be safe. He keeps his hand on the stone wall, counting the doors as he passes. His cloak catches on the handle of a door as he passes by and rips it away.

But they make it to that door, to the room where they'd be safe. Roxas' hand slips on the grain of wood as he pushes against the door, and resorts to using his shoulder. Maleek shoves the door open, Roxas nearly fumbling to the ground from the pounding in his head and the pain that sears through his joints. He hears the gasp of a woman and the clattering of a mortar and pestals before hurried footsteps approach them.

Gently, hands brace him up and Roxas lifts his head to find sapphire-blue eyes wide and gaping at him. "Roxas." Maleek whispers.

"It's not as bad as it looks." Roxas breathes.

Unfortunately, his knees buckle but Maleek braces him sturdily and helps him stumble over to a chair. Sitting down, relief floods his joints, only his stomach feels like it is still moving. Roxas suddenly wants to remain standing so his stomach can feel like it is slowing down.

The healer is already working, not even needing Maleek to order her to. Before he can give her a fair warning, Roxas hunches over and begins to convulse from his spinning head. Maleek uses his foot to push a trash can in front of Roxas as he heaves. His body is coated with sweat and reeks of blood.

Once Roxas is sure he is done and his stomach is empty, he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. The healer woman doesn't say anything, and Roxas doesn't feel any fear as she takes out a large hunting knife and rips open his shirt right there. Her face is a professional mask as she yanks the fabric down to his waist, revealing the severe bruising spreading across his back.

After Roxas hears her sigh, she walks over to her worktable and pours some kind of liquid onto a rag and hands it to Roxas. "Smell it. Slowly. Take deep breathes. It will help with the headache and stomach."

The assassin takes the rag and hovers it under his nose and does as ordered. Almost immediately, the nausea eases and his headache dulls. He keeps his breathing steady as the healer removes his belt of weapons and twists open a small wooden pot revealing a pale green ointment and the smell of medicine permeates his nose. He can feel Maleek's presence behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

"It might sting a little." She tells.

Roxas merely shakes his head and then he feels her fingertips rubbing along his back. The ointment is cool for one second before heating up, but Roxas hisses only because of the pressure her fingertips have as she glides over the bruises of his back. Then it starts to cool again and Roxas can't stop the sigh of relief that escapes his lips. There's still his bloodied nose and bruises on his face, but his back is most likely her main priority.

As she moves to examine his face, Roxas tries not to look her in the eye, not that she would care either way. She doesn't ask questions, and Roxas is glad. His upper torso is now bare, his shoes taken off and tossed to the side, and now all he wears is the pair of bloodstained trousers. As the healer moves to his front, she takes his chin and slowly begins to smear the ointment around his face with her fingertips.

She's a pretty young thing. Apart from her golden-brown eyes, she has a long black braid over her right shoulder and smooth, tan skin. While her cheeks are slightly pink, she keeps her face serious and expressionless. No doubt built up over the years with her job and experience.

"I'm surprised nothing is broken." She comments as she wipes her hands on her apron. She turns back to the table and starts to grind something.

"You and me both. But is there anything serious?"

"Not form what I can tell, surprisingly. Must've been some grudge match though." She says, patting whatever it is she's grinding in the mortar.

"How long will it take to heal?" Maleek asks.

"The bruises will have to heal on their own, Captain. And a few of the cuts will be gone within four days if you apply the tonic I'm giving you three times a day."

"Alright."

As the healer goes back over to the table, Maleek's hand shifts slightly and out of his peripherals, Roxas can see him crouch; staring at him. Turning his head slowly, Roxas meets those eyes. "Are you alright?" Maleek asks.

"Yeah," Roxas nods. "I think so." He gives a quite thank you as the healer brings him some water. He tips it to his lips. It's laced with lemon, making it takes both sour and sweet.

The sound of a chair squealing hurts his ears, and Roxas cringes. Maleek takes a seat next to him. "This probably isn't the best time to ask, but, did he say anything? About the bodies?"

Roxas shakes his head as the healer takes back the now emptied glass of water. He speaks in a hushed tone. He believes the healer won't say anything, but he doesn't want to take the risk. Roxas leans close to Maleek, their lips nearly brushing.

"No. they didn't know anything. And now that I think of it, they don't have anything to gain. They would have if the creature was just killing for sport. But it's absorbing their powers. How can bandits benefit from life essence?"

"So you think it's working alone?" It takes Roxas a moment to process the question, as Maleek's lips brush his bottom one, sending a fire-hot current through his body. Even the briefest of touch and Roxas can feel how soft they are; his breath smelling of ale he must've drank from the tavern.

"Probably." Roxas mumbles. The healer approaches with a small flask and orders Roxas to drink it. Tipping the lip to his mouth, he gulps it down, nearly heaving it back up when the taste mimics that of piss and sour berry juice. But he swallows it down, making a funny sound of disgust that makes Maleek chuckle.

"Medicine." The healer says with a smile. "It'll help with the pain."

Roxas merely mimics the sound and shakes his head. Maleek rises from his chair as the healer hands him a small circular tin pot the size of his palm. They exchange hushed words, smiles and thank-you's. Maleek then looks to Roxas. "Do you think you can stand?"

"I think so. I just feel exhausted now that I've sat down."

"Well don't think I'm going to haul you up to your quarters on my back." Maleek chuckles.

Roxas manages to push himself up and after a couple teetering steps, he and Maleek link elbows and Maleek leads them out of the healer's room. Roxas' throat tightens slightly when they pass the familiar hallway towards Kiros' chamber. Roxas can nearly see Kiros in his room, either reading a book or sitting at his desk, still angry with Roxas.

He and Maleek don't speak as they make the trek to Roxas' room. The guards are still posted out front, straightening as Maleek approaches. They knew of Roxas' mission today, so Roxas doesn't bother to try to look drunk or dazed.

Once he steps through the threshold, Maleek releases him, but not before placing a kiss on Roxas' forehead. Roxas was too exhausted to stop him. In fact, he _liked_ it. Even if it was brief, the warmth, the softness – in numbed his mind like a drug.

And when it goes away, Roxas is left feeling hollow, empty. Lifeless, almost.

When Roxas is safely back in his rooms, changed in a silk nightshirt, he watches the leaves drift from the hills beyond the Royal City. They sweep towards him, harbingers of the storm that is to come. The full moon, trapped beneath a wall of pewter, stains the clouds a ghostly grey, making the sky unusually bright. It feels surreal, as if the horizon has disappeared beyond the hills. He is stranded in a world of marble.

Roxas leaves the balcony, but stops when he sets his hand on the handle of the door. Axel's gold band has been on his finer long enough to leave a tan line, showing the difference between his pale skin, and his now tanning skin from his past days spent outside.

His shoulder and lower back throb heavily. His jaw is deeply brushing and he has a small limp on his left foot.

He had often wished for adventure, for old spells and wicked kings. But he didn't realize it would be like this – a fight for his freedom. And he'd always imagined that there'd be someone to help him – a loyal forest friend or a one-armed soldier or something. He hadn't imagined he would be so . . . alone.

For the first time in a long while, Roxas wishes Vanitas was here with him. Even if admitting it leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth and heavies his heart like it turned to stone.

Vanitas had always known what to do, always had Roxas' back, whether Roxas wanted him to or not. Roxas didn't think he could look past what Vanitas had done to him a year ago now; he still hasn't forgiven him, and Roxas doesn't think he ever will.

But now . . . right now, just for this one moment, he would give anything – anything in the world – to have Vanitas still with him.

His eyes burn, and Roxas puts a hand to his heart. There his fingers wrap around the small sack he had been given to by his father, the small string pouch that holds dirt from Ventus' grave. He feels the pouch warm beneath his fingers – comforting, somehow. He takes a step through the doors, and shuts them quietly behind him.

As he walks towards the left side of the chamber towards his personal library. Inside, he inhales the smell of dried leather and parchment. There's still a fire quietly brewing in the fireplace, and Roxas wanders towards the back where tower is and stops before a tapestry pinned to the wall . . . and its depiction.

His heart triples in speed.

It depicts Queen Lilian. The beautiful Elven Queen who had blazed into battle to rid Roxas' body of poison, and who had given Roxas the legendary blades of Oblivion and Oathkeeper. Both blades are currently sheathed in the custom made scabbards Maleek had given to him, and hanging on the weapon's rack by Roxas' bed.

Roxas takes a step towards the tapestry to better study the entire scope of it.

In the center stands a stag, magnificent and virile, gazing sideways at Lilian. The symbol of the royal house of Valendia, of the kingdom that Malakai, Lilian's father, had founded. A reminder that though Lilian had become Queen of Twilight Town, she still belonged to Valendia. Like Roxas no matter where he went, no matter how far, Twilight Town would _always_ be a part of him.

Roxas listens to the wind howl. With a sigh, he shakes his head and turns way.


	39. Chapter 13 (Part Two)

There he was. As usual. Sitting on his bed.

Alone; as always. With nothing but a single razor blade sitting on his scarred leg. Every day of every week, of every month of every year; the lonely boy adds to his already now vast collection.

The dog of golden fur lies next to him, whining as she nudges herself closer to him. But he merely pushes the dog gently away with his foot. He can't bear to look at her, either. She was his gift to that beautiful boy. A gift for his birthday, and he loved it. He loved her.

Over on his end table by his bed, a half-full tray of food was set. Three bites of a sandwich, a couple gulps of water and only devouring a couple slices of a cored apple. Of course, there were no utensils.

But he had trained the dog to fetch small, sharp things from around the house. Another thing that would make that beautiful blue-eyed boy angry, ashamed and disappointed.

The lonely boy with ember-gold eyes takes a deep breath in and slowly let's it back out. With the blade in hand, he slowly slices the smooth, pale skin of his mid-thigh.

 _Why, why do I do this to myself_? Is the question that runs through his mind each time he adds to his collection.

 _You know why. You know, you just don't want to admit it. You, no . . ._ I _want to feign ignorance for as long as possible. I don't want to remember what happened! That he's really . . . gone . . . never coming back_.

This, is the reply he would get to the question. The only way the lonely boy could forget that awful answer, that horrible truth . . . was to add to his collection.

And so he did. Everyday. Of every week. Of every month.

Until the day that the lonely boy will see the one he loved once again.


	40. Chapter 14 (Part Two)

Roxas nervously paces back and forth in front of his balcony doors. It's half past five, the hour before supper that Roxas and Kiros use to spend time for lessons. Except, Kiros is late.

The next day after Roxas' encounter with Clayton, the assassin mostly spent his day in bed, enjoying the shortening stack of books as he finishes novel after novel. His left foot was twisted resulting in a limp, and then bruising continues up his jawline, surrounding his right eye and up his temple. Then it spreads out across his chest and back, making him look like the victim of a horrible disease. The healer had instructed he apply the salve she provided twice a day. The only problem is that when Roxas reaches back to apply it to his spine, his arms and sides scream in agony. In which he called a servant to help him, because he would be damned if he allowed Maleek to rub an ointment on him.

His foot starts to throb and Roxas is forced to sit in one of the dining chairs. He had hoped that Kiros would come to give Roxas the chance to explain himself. He would be more than happy and willing. But Roxas still remains alone in his room, listening to the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the library. Roxas had left the door open to help circulate air through the chamber, as this autumn day is pleasantly cool.

He had set everything up on the dining table, their lesson books, pencils and pens, a couples plates of food. Now looking at them, Roxas feels nauseated.

Every hour before dinner, Roxas and the prince divided their time equally between Galtea and the common tongue. Roxas had Kiros read from his personal library books, and then force the prince to copy letter after letter until they looked perfect.

Since they'd begun their lessons, the prince has greatly improved his fluency in the common language, though the boys still spoke Galtea. Perhaps it was for the ease and comfort, perhaps it was to see the raised eyebrows and gaping mouths when others overheard them, perhaps it was to keep their conversations private – whichever reason, the assassin found the language preferable. At least Gollund Mines taught him _something_.

Roxas stayed in the chair, hugging his knees to his chest as he listened to the ticking of the clock. When the hour is up, the clock in the library chimes. The sound echoes throughout the empty chambers, in perfect unison with the giant marble clock tower across the courtyards outside of Roxas' balcony.

For some odd reason, Roxas feels like crying. All in all, he and prince have known each other for nearly three weeks. And have spent nearly every day together for simple conversation, and then lessons. Frankly, he shouldn't feel this hurt and this upset, but he is. It's like he and the prince were like to kindred souls who had found each other.

And it's like he is losing a friend all over again. He still doesn't know the fate of Riku, Vanitas betrayed him, he killed Ventus and Demyx, and Sora is all the way back in Lesalia, heartbroken and grieving. He doesn't even think he can call Maleek a friend – the title seeming too casual, too . . . normal for what they share. Laying it out like that, Roxas hadn't known how many people he had lost or left behind. And now he wishes he hadn't figured it out. It only adds the pain that makes his chest hurt.

His eyes well with tears and he immediately wipes them away on the sleeve of his shirt. Quickly Roxas takes the small stacks of books the practically tosses them back into the library on the desk, and shoves the pens and pencils into the drawers. He grabs a thick leather cloak and clasps it around his shoulders. Thankfully, the guards didn't say anything when he asked them to escort him to the castle's library.

They remain in the main room of the library as Roxas sets off through the stacks, heading towards the clean, overstuffed alcove where he'd found the majority of epic fantasy novels. He couldn't walk fast enough, and his eyes keep watering.

What is he to do? How can he mend things when Kiros won't even bother to let Roxas close? He wrings his fingers. He rounds a corner, not ten stacks from the alcove, and comes to a halt.

Kiros, seated at a small desk, stares at Roxas with wide eyes.

Roxas doesn't know whether to be upset, insulted, or relieved. But at least the prince didn't immediately leave when he knew Roxas was already in the library. What should he do? Act casual? Cautious? Humor the moment?

Roxas puts a hand on his racing heart. "Damn." He says. "You gave me a fright!"

Kiros didn't smile, merely give a slow blink like a cat. Roxas cocks his head as he approaches the table. "What are you doing here?"

Roxas figured it would be better if he didn't mention the lesson that Kiros had purposely missed. It would only add fuel to the fire. "I couldn't stand being in my chambers anymore." Roxas shifts his eyes to the prince's book. That wasn't the book they used during their lesson. No, it is a thick, aging book crammed with dense lines of text. "What are you reading?"

Kiros slams the book shut and stands. "Nothing."

Roxas observes his face; his lips are pursed, and the prince lifts his chin. "I thought you couldn't read at that level yet."

Kiros tucks the book into the crook of his arm. "Then you _are_ like every ignorant fool in this castle, _Tobias_." He says with perfect pronunciation. Not giving Roxas a chance to reply, the prince strode away.

Roxas watches him go. It doesn't make sense. Kiros _couldn't_ read books that advanced, not when he still stumbled through the lines of text. And Kiros never spoke with that kind of flawless accent, and –

In the shadows behind the desk, a piece of paper had fallen between the wood and the stone wall. Easing it out, Roxas unfolds the crumpled paper.

He whirls around to the direction where Kiros had disappeared. His throat constricting, Roxas tucks the piece of paper into his pocket and hurries back towards the great room, the strange arcane marking drawn on the piece of paper burning a hole in his clothing.

The symbol's base is shaped like an upside-down heart, while its top is a thin, spiked cross. Spikes and sharp edges often evoke the emblem without the full symbol being displayed.

Roxas rushes down the staircase, then strode along a hallway lined with books.

He remembers those marks. It was in the sketched picture that Seymour had shown him of the crime scene when the husk body was delivered to them. And it's what he faintly remembers when Zexion had used Roxas' blood to open the portal to another world so that Roxas could commune with Ventus. But those arcane markings had been different, and they had been used to summon a Heartless as well.

What power did these markings have? What could these marks summon? And how does Kiros know about them? Roxas had told him very vague description of the crime scene, but it had seemed like Kiros knew more than Roxas. Roxas shudders.

No, Kiros couldn't have played him like that. Because Kiros was his friend – because Kiros had wanted Roxas to teach him about the common language, wanted to talk to him since they had met in the hallway.

But Kiros came from a conquered kingdom. And the King of Kerwon had ripped the frown off his father's head and stripped his title from him. And the people of Galtea were being kidnapped in the night and sold into slavery, right along with the rebels that rumor claimed Kiros supported so fiercely. And King Sephiroth, it would seem, still hasn't spared Kiros the time for a private meeting, and that can be wrongly deciphered in that he doesn't _want_ to see Kiros because of his rebel belief.

And then there's Roxas, who had kept his own secrets from the prince as well. He had tricked Kiros, even if it was so small, he had tricked him. Kiros might've thought he found a friend in Roxas, only to realize that Roxas – an _assassin_ , a natural creature of manipulation – had been deceiving him as well.

Roxas eyes sting again as he stops the guards loitering in armchairs in the great room.

Kiros has every reason to deceive them as well, to plot against them. To tear apart this kingdom and send everyone into a tizzy. Who better to target than its inhabitants? No one would miss them, but the fear will seep into the castle.

But why would Kiros plot against _him_?

He can't confront Kiros – not without more concrete proof, not without ruining everything. So Roxas leaves the library, with his guards still in tow, and heads through the halls of the marble castle, and turns corner after corner, asking his guards along the way until he reaches Seymour's chambers.

The sorcerer's guards are dressed all the same and their eyebrows lift when they see Roxas coming with his entourage. While Roxas knocks on the giant red marble and gold doors, the guards exchange simple banter.

When there is no answer, Roxas knocks again. It's only eight o'clock in the evening. He should still be up. Otherwise the guards would've turned Roxas away. The doors stand still, and just as Roxas is about ready to pound with his fist, one of the doors opens.

There stands Seymour, half-naked with his long beaded necklace around his neck, and the ends dangling just at the base of his pronounced abdomen. Immediately Roxas swallows and clears his throat. Behind him, he hears the guards snicker. Seymour merely stares at him, waiting for Roxas to say something.

"Um, I didn't mean to bother you if you were in the middle of something." Roxas says, collecting his thoughts and remembering why he is here.

Seymour's purple eyes blink and a small smiles curls his lips up. "You weren't interrupting anything, though I have to say that your visit is surprising and unexpected."

Roxas smiles. "That's one of my better qualities." Seymour's grin widens and he raises an eyebrow. Gods, it is truly unfair how attractive all of these men are. Roxas almost wanted to kiss him, but the assassin shakes his head as he feels his pocket with the crumpled piece of paper grow warmer. "I need your help with something, if you're willing."

Seymour lifts his chin, his face smoothing into a stern curiosity. "It depends on what you're asking of me"

"I want you to help me understand the arcane marks of magic." Roxas says. At that, Seymour's eyes widen slightly and his eyebrows lift once again. "I want to know what they are and what they mean. Especially if they're being used for this case."

Seymour leans against the doorframe, his face growing serious. "Might I ask what had brought on this sudden curiosity?"

He can't tell him about Kiros or the mark on the piece of paper that is growing warmer and warmer. It would start rumors and the Thirteen will be on constant vigilance, and Kiros will notice. Because he is smart. "I just want a better understand of it so that I can be somewhat useful to this case. If they're being used by this perpetrator, then I want to at least know what I'm dealing with."

"We are a team, Roxas. This isn't just you and you alone." Seymour says softly.

"I know, but –" Roxas bites the corner of his bottom lip. He sighs. "It's that and, my friend had used them once to open a portal, to another realm. He did it so that I could see someone I had loved dearly, and just by smearing it a little, he had summoned a completely different creature. A Heartless." Roxas looks up to Seymour, who stares at him with surprised eyes. "I want to know how these things work. Magic is gone from where I'm from; so I want to learn more. Please, this is all I ask."

After a moment of silence, the guards behind him staring, Seymour gives a soft smile. "Very well, come inside."

Roxas nods in thanks and follows Seymour inside after he dismisses his own guards. When he steps into Seymour's chambers, immediately the scent of brewing potions, dried flowers and old leather hits his nose.

Seymour's rooms were pretty normal, had it not been for the smell or the plumes of green smoke emanating from the back of the chamber. Walking in, there's a staircase on the left-hand wall that leads up to his second floor bedroom with an added bathing chamber, and what looks like a balcony from where Roxas was standing. Then the main floor stretches back into Seymour's alchemy laboratory. A single iron chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, its candle holders curling like vine tendrils.

As he follows Seymour, Roxas look around and finds that the rooms keep with the theme of marble, only unlike the pure white like Roxas' chambers, Seymour's are tinted darker; like the clouds of smoke have dusted the walls with a thin grey coating.

When they get into the alchemy station, Roxas is surprised at how open it is. There's a central open fireplace brewing calmly at the epicenter. A large detailed rug is under it. Above it is a cylindrical chase where the smoke goes into, and with this open design, the chamber is set into groin vaults, the archways and alcoves making it seem much larger. Within one alcove, Roxas can see a large table with beakers, and vials and flasks, and stirring sticks. Many are filled with certain substances and liquids, set in holders or bubbling over small flames.

Then next to the large desk are two bookshelves filled with ingredients; stuffed as filled as the shelves of Roxas' personal library. He walks over to the shelves as Seymour goes over to the fire and stirs whatever is in that black pot that is sitting over the flames. The shelves have such strange ingredients that Roxas almost feels like he is in another world when in Seymour's chambers. There are small wooden bowls of salts of frost and fire, bee hive husks, many species of flowers, toes and skulls, ears and organs – human and animal – dried fish, dead insects, rotted roots, leaves, crystals and then books for the room to spare.

Around the central open fireplace, there are plush armchairs and a couch set in a fashionable way. Ordinarily, the mixture of bottles and ingredients would look strange, and yet it seems fitting for Seymour.

Attached is another room, and passing under the archway, Roxas enters the room and his heart skips a beat. At the center of the room, there's a large circle drawn in white chalk. There was a smaller circle within the larger one, and then lines divided it into sixths. Within the divisions, are six more circles, and inside are markings of magic. He recognizes only two: the one that Zexion had drawn that had summoned the Heartless, and then the mark that was drawn on Kiros' sheet of paper. Roxas could've sworn it grew warmer as he stared at the mark.

A hand clapping on his shoulder startles Roxas and he whirls to find Seymour. "Sorry." Roxas mumbles.

Seymour simply shakes his head with a slight wave of his hand, and then ushers Roxas out of the room. He starts to lead Roxas out of the alchemy chamber as he asks: "So how did your friend manage to summon a Heartless? Even if by accident."

"Um . . . he had used my blood to draw the marks and open the portal." Roxas says almost shamefully.

Seymour doesn't say anything when he turns to Roxas with eyebrows narrowed. When he turns away, Roxas follows the Elven man out of the chamber and into the entryway, his cheeks burning. They head up the stairs, allowing Roxas a better observation of the open bedroom. What Roxas thought was a balcony was just a wall of windows, their light dimmed with sea-green curtains with gold tassels pulled shut.

Seymour's bed is a day bed pushed against the wall on the left-hand side like Roxas'. The bedframe is odd in that is it wooden, but it also has three more drawers built into it. Roxas bets an entire bag of gold that if he were to open the drawers, he would find more books and weird ingredients. Maybe even a few scrolls.

Across from it are four more large cherry wood bookshelves, stuffed to the sides with tomes and large volumes and scrolls. In front of the bookshelves are a couple more cushioned armchairs and couches, their color matching the curtains. In front of the middle window is a desk with a glass pen in an inkwell and another small stack of books and clean papers. The cubbyholes have scrolls in them, each marked by category.

He doesn't see any wardrobes or dressers, so he assumes they're in the bathing chamber, but the door is closed.

"How did he learn to open a portal?" Seymour suddenly speaks. Roxas turns his attention from the desk to find Seymour over by the bookshelves, his fingers ghosting along the spines. He now wears a deep indigo tunic Roxas didn't see him put on.

Roxas swallows and crosses the room to Seymour. He doesn't bother to sit in the armchair. "We were living with my mother, Tifa Lockhart, at the time. And he was studying with one of her assassins who knew much about magic." Roxas lowers his gaze. "It was my fault. He did it because I wanted to see a friend. A friend that I had killed by order."

Silence falls – pitying, horrifying silence. "Did you ever ask it of him?" he then asks.

Roxas looks up, and Seymour is still facing the bookshelf. "N-No. He only did it because it was my birthday."

"Then the fault does not fall to you. He did it out of the kindness of his heart. Despite the idiocy that had fueled it." Seymour's fingers finally hook into the top of the spine of a book and pulls it out. "But I will give him credit; that spell falls under the category of master."

"But it had worked. And it was only after he had smeared the mark did the Heartless appear." Roxas says. "Of course, it's to be expected that simple modifications of a mark can screw all things to hell, but I'm still curious. Was it a summoning spell, or opening a portal to another world? Because my, friend, had said that no one has the right to open the door to the _realm_."

"He was right; and wise. No one does." Seymour says, his tone . . . changing. He sits on the couch and finally motions Roxas to sit. "Please."

Roxas sits down next to him, nervously ringing a section of his cloak he had balled in his hands. Seymour opens up this large green tome outlines in gold with gold lettering on its spine. _Oblivion Mysticism_ the embellished title reads. Seymour begins flipping through whole sections at a time, searching for the name. The chunks of pages slap against one another until finally, Seymour stops. The page he halts on depicts a single letter, a large and elaborate _H_.

Roxas' gaze follows the path of Seymour's fingers as they slip to the top right-hand corner of the book, hooking the thin, almost filmy paper. This time, he turns each separate sheet slowly, the pages whispering against one another as they lift and settle into place once more.

As Seymour leafed through, Roxas catches glimpses of strange symbols and squiggly characters – probably Valendian – interspersed between long sections of text in the common language.

Roxas fiddles with the lining of his cloak, then folds his arms, waiting and knowing what has to be coming.

Seymour continues to turn page after page, past engravings and artist's renderings of scrolls, past detailed diagrams depicting interlaced wheels and six-pointed starts, past human figures cloaked in robes and draped in scarves – until he turns one final page.

An intricate engraving of a vial creature unfolds itself, the artwork filling the entire left-hand side of the book.

The creature stands on three of its four legs, the fourth one perked up off the ground. It has a withered frame, a gaping, hollow skull face and its mouth set in a wide howl revealing its serrated teeth. Its maw drips from its gums and teeth, its eyes completely yellow, not a single indication of a pupil, and jagged antennas protrude from its head. Its tongue rolls out of its mouth, covered in saliva and curls in a swirl. Roxas can practically hear the roar that the creature had bellowed when he first saw it. It still reverberates through his bones.

Staring straight down into the book, Roxas lets his eyes shift to the text that foils the opposite page, right below the title, which read "HEARTLESS" in swirling letters. Below the text is the familiar symbol that Roxas had watched Zexion trace onto the ground.

"The Heartless emblem is comprised of a heart with a fleur-de-lis at its base." Seymour suddenly speaks. "It is typically black with a red outline and spiked "X" crossing through the heart in the symbol, which symbolizes the fact that Heartless act without emotions, hence their name."

"How strange." Roxas breathes in astonishment.

"They're part of an ancient religion that died long ago."

"What religion?" Roxas asks.

"I would tell you to leave it alone, but it would seem that it is too late for that. Still, such things were forgotten for a reason."

"But what religion? Roxas repeats. "If they're an ancient religion from a forgotten time – what are they doing being used for magic?"

"That, is a discussion for another day. Tonight, you simply wish to have answers on the marks and what they do. Correct?" Roxas simply nods and Seymour continues. "Now then, let's start with the basics: the symbols that you saw with your friend, the ones you saw in my room, they are actually subcategories of a grouping called Darkmarks. And the Darkmarks consist of: Heartless, Nobodies, Unversed and Dream Eaters, each term having their own form of monster and meaning."

"Sounds a little confusing." Roxas hesitantly says.

"But I promise, it'll make things much easier to understand. If you think you can follow along." Seymour grins.

Roxas taps the Elven man with his elbow and he starts to read. As Roxas listens, he soaks up each bit of new information and begins piecing them together with all of the events that have led to this moment.

According to one book, Darkmarks were an alphabet. Though according to _this_ book, no grammar exists within the Darkmarks: everything is just symbols that one has to string together. And they change meaning depending on the marks around them. They are painfully difficult to draw; they require precise lengths and angles, or they become something else entirely.

Roxas remembers how Sora had panicked when Zexion tried to rub away the markings on the ground, and then how the Heartless had come through that portal moment after. But does that mean – had Sora known about these markings all along? He did say that he dabbled in magic, even claiming to have gifts of his own. But Roxas never bothered to delve deeper – he was too enraptured by Axel, figuring out his Elven heritage and powers, and trying to desperately climb out of his depressive state.

About halfway through, he speaks up. "These just sound like radical and outlandish theories. I never knew any of this! _Why_? Some books claim that the Dark is a force that holds together and governs the entire continent of Ivalice – and not just Ivalice! Countless other worlds, too. I always thought the Dark was an old term for Fate – or Destiny."

"So did I," Seymour says. "But the Darkness isn't a religion, at least not here in the northern parts of the continent, and it's not included in the worship of the Goddess or the gods."

"I won't deny it is interesting, just difficult to wrap my mind around."

"Some theories suggest that Mother Goddess is just a spirit from one of these other worlds, and that she strayed through something called the Door to Darkness and found Kingdom Hearts in need of form and life."

"That sounds a little sacrilegious." Roxas warns. Seymour was old enough to more vividly recall the burnings and executions ten years ago. What had it been like to grow up in the shadows of the Dark Lord who had ordered so much destruction? To have lived in Kingdom Hearts when royal families were slaughtered, when seers and magic-wielders were burned alive, and the world fell into darkness and sorrow?

"There's an idea that before the Goddess arrived, there was life – an ancient civilization, but somehow, they disappeared. Perhaps through that Door to Darkness. Ruins exist – and while your people have speculation, they are too old even for Elven making."

"You're just confusing me more!" says Roxas.

Seymour laughs. "My apologies. Let us get back to the topic at hand. However, if you find the topic interesting enough, you're free to look at my tome on the subject. Just stop by my chambers whenever you wish. It is nice to have someone else to talk to these things about."

The Elven warriors smiles as he returns to the book.

"There are actually multiple ways to depict this one Heartless symbol. One common term used among magic-wielders is: The Mark of the Heartless. The Heartless symbol is used, as its name suggests, to represent and summon the Heartless, specifically Emblem Heartless. A common variation of the Heartless emblem is a completely black silhouette, lacking the cross over the heart. Another variation is simply a heart featuring the color scheme of a black body and red outline, but also lacks the cross."

As he listens to Seymour move from symbol to symbol, a few catch his attention, and asks Seymour to explain more in detail. One of those being the Symbol of the Nobody.

The Nobody symbol is primarily associated with necromancy. Magic-wielders would use this to raise up dead bodies, only they are not intelligent in any way. They are simple hollowed out shells of what the person was. Roxas' throat tightens as he feels the outside of his pocket, tracing over the crumpled piece of paper he had retrieved from Kiros' table in the library.

Their symbol is featured countless times in the architecture and decorations of the buildings and the castle and other areas back in Twilight Town. The emblem resembles an upside-down Heartless emblem in shape, but with several circular notches taken out of its edges. The symbol's base is shaped like an upside-down heart, while its top is a thin, spiked cross. Spikes and sharp edges often evoke the Nobody emblem without the full symbol being displayed. The symbol is usually depicted as white or silver, like most Nobodies. When the dead body is resurrected, its skin becomes silver and white.

After that, Seymour explains about the symbol of the Unversed.

The Unversed emblem is emblazoned at least once on every single Unversed, which is a creature that is considered "the opposite of human life", and grow from the negative emotions. Several varieties of Unversed exist in a distant realm that Seymour doesn't go into detail of. Emotion was a key component in their conception. They are seen with smiling, angry, and crying "faces", referring to the shape of their red eyes, which all Unversed share. They lack a direct link to the heart, but are beings that represent emotions in hearts. The emblem most Unversed are christened with is also meant to represent a heart that expresses emotion.

The Unversed emblem is designed to resemble a heart expressing emotion. It uses sharp corners, deep curves, and straight edges to form a heart shape in its center. Certain parts of the Unversed symbol's design resemble some Unversed's eyes. The symbol is virtually always black.

Seymour leaves the one book open, and pulls out another one from the shelf. He flips through the sections like before and share the book between their laps. Excitement and slight disturbance swim through Roxas as Seymour teaches him new symbols from different books. Then there was the title and made icy go through Roxas' blood. The Dream Eater.

From the way they are depicted in the pages, they look like colorful plush animals. And apparently there's a distinction between whether they are Spirits or Nightmares. Dream Eaters exist only within the Realm of Sleep, feeding on the dreams and nightmares of those who sleep. These creatures come in a variety of shapes, sizes, and color schemes of which they are categorized by. Nightmares tend to have darker color schemes, while Spirits have lighter, pastel colorations. Nightmares also tend to have round, red eyes which lack pupils, while those of Spirits are either yellow, blue, green or purple. A Spirit's eyes change color as its disposition changes.

The Dream Eater symbols are designed in the form of hearts with certain aspects that display whether they are Spirit or Nightmare. The Spirit variant is always a faded pale peach fading to a deep hot pink with a dark purple border, the tail at the bottom of the heart-shaped is bowl-shaped. Its wings are shaped more like swirls as it is given a simplistic innocent look, compared to the Nightmare version. The Nightmare variant is always colored a deep navy fading into a bright neon purple with a thick white border, the tail at the bottom of the heart-shaped symbol is cone-shaped. Its wings are shaped like bat wings with small spikes in the center and growing larger near the sides. They bear a very vague resemblance to the Heartless symbol, specifically the Nightmare version.

Crowns are another heavily featured symbol of magic and are part of Kingdom Hearts' continental logo along with the curled heart symbol. The most widely used crown symbol in the series is a flat, three-pronged crown that appears in a wide variety of colors, most commonly gold and silver. The shape of the crowns prongs create a negative space silhouette of the hilt in Kingdom Heart's royal swords. This symbol is a ring with spikes along its outer edge and an "X" in its center, and is used to represent characters and enemies that cannot be classified as Heartless, Nobodies, Unversed or Dream Eaters.

By the time they finish scouring through the books, Roxas' eyes are heavy, and he feels unbelievably exhausted; almost to the point where he wouldn't mind not seeing another book for a handful of weeks. The clock in Seymour's chambers chime half-past eleven o'clock at night.

He's surprised he didn't fall asleep on Seymour's shoulder as he was explaining the fourth mark from the ninth book he had pulled from the shelf. But now, as he makes the trek back to his own room, a book tucked under his arm, he feels like he will collapse at any second. He even considers just sleeping on one of the bay windows he passes that has plush cushions and fluffy pillows.

But thankfully he manages to make it to his own chambers, the guards chuckling when they see how tired Roxas is. Once inside, he unceremoniously tosses the book onto his bed and disperses of his clothes as he makes for the bathing chamber. This time he chooses a nicely steamed bath and munches on the fruit of one of the date trees as he allows the water to seep the tension from his muscles.

It's nearly midnight when Roxas emerges from his bathing chamber feeling fresh and relaxed. He really should get to bed, but he just wants to get past a couple small sections of the book that Seymour had lent him before he departed from the mage's chambers.

Snuggled up in his sheets, Roxas allows the calm and the quiet to wrap around him like the blanket covering his legs.

About midway through the first section, Roxas gazes from his book to the tapestry on the wall. It is perfectly flat against the wall, not a single ripple or ruffle to contort the image. The stag still shining as beautiful and as hauntingly as he had first laid eyes on it. Roxas shakes his head and returns to his book. Though he scans the lines, none of the words register.

It's been so long since he has seen or dreamt of the Elven Queen. It's odd how he has so many questions that he wishes to ask her. How had she'd known him? What made her want to help him? He still remember the night she had appeared in his room, glowing and beautiful, and had handed him the Sword of Luchel, the God of War – the sword that Roxas had received at a church ceremony on his birthday. Later that single sword had been changed into Oathkeeper, and she had given him Oblivion as well.

A door shuts somewhere inside his rooms, and Roxas jumps, the book flying from his hands. He grabs the leather-wrapped hilt of the dagger he keeps beside his bed, ready to leap off the mattress, but lowers it as a servant's humming filters through the chamber. He groans as he climbs out of the warmth of his bed to retrieve his book.

It had fallen under the bed, and Roxas kneels upon th4e icy floor, straining to reach the book. He can't feel it anywhere, so he grabs the candle. He sees the book immediately, tucked against the back wall, but as his fingers grappled onto the cover, a glimmer of candlelight traces a white line across the floor beneath his bed.

Roxas yanks the book back to him and stands with a jolt. His hands tremble as he pushes the bed out of position, his feet slipping on the half-frozen floor. It moves slowly, but eventually, he has shifted it enough to see what had been sketched on the floor beneath.

Everything inside of Roxas turns to ice.

Darkmarks.

Dozens of Darkmarks have been drawn onto the floor with chalk. They form a giant spiral, with a large mark in its center. Roxas stumbles back, tumbles down the three steps and slamming into the wall.

What is this? He runs a shaking hand through his hair, staring at the center mark.

It is the symbol of the Nobody, and Roxas' mind immediately flashes back to the piece of paper he had found Kiros had left behind.

His stomach rising in his throat, Roxas rushes towards his dressing room towards the vanity and grabs the pitcher of water atop it. Without a thought, he tosses the water onto the marks, then races to his bathing chamber to draw more water. When the water has finished loosening the chalk, he takes a towel and scrubs the floor until his back aches and his legs and hands are frozen.

Then, only then, did he throw on a new set of night clothes and heads out the door.

The world flashes in a stream of white with bits of color here and there. When he finds the set of doors, he bangs as hard as his freezing hand can take.

It might have been the look on his face, or the lack of color in his cheeks, but thankfully, Maleek didn't say anything as Roxas demanded he sleep with him tonight.


	41. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello and Good Morning guys,

After receiving an email from one of the readers of this series, I wish to inform you that most of this story is based off of the now-growing popular series of _Throne of Glass_ , written by Sarah J. Mass.

Unfortunately, this branches _far_ past inspiration.

I have plagiarized sections and even chapters from the _Throne of Glass_ series throughout this installment of _A Pirate's Treasured Thief_. It starts from the second book, _Sailing into the Shadows_ , and goes onto _Rise of the Shadow King_. If I were to list the sections I've copied I this book alone . . . you would want to torture me more than you wanted to torture Cloud and Tifa.

Only for this third installment, even I started to think that it was more of her words than my own there were so many sections. Right from the very get-go of this third book, and then the first chapter of _Part Two: Rise of the Shadow King_.

I hope that you can understand that this disrespectful action comes from a place of admiration for Sarah Mass. Her epic fantasy series _Throne of Glass_ is one of astonishing proportions and in my personal opinion surpasses that of _The Hunger Games_ or _Divergent_ or anything. I have read all of the available books and have loved every piece of it. It is a terrific series that will have you indulged in a world unlike any other so I highly recommend you read it.

Now I am not using that as an excuse, and I don't want to. I don't even have a valid excuse for what I did.

I am greatly ashamed of this, but even more so that I didn't stop, nor bother to give the author credit where she greatly deserves, or even tell all of you. With the _Throne of Glass_ series' growing popularity, it was only a matter of time until you readers discovered what I have done, and while I am reluctant of this, I know it's better that I tell you all now instead of having you find out and be disappointed in me; if you're not already. And I need to own up to it.

I have a greatly low expectations of my writing, and I want people to enjoy reading the stories that I place on here, but I don't think my writing is good enough. So I just copied her paragraphs and chapters because her writing was, better. Now that is terrible and wrong and arguably stupid, and I do understand if you hate me or belittle me or despise me in any way. I feel I deserve no less.

Sarah didn't get her work published by copying or mimicking, she worked hard for it, and I don't wish to disrespect her or belittle that hard work in any way.

I'm owning up to this because you readers have been so great, and incredible and loving of this series, and you deserve to know; you have the right to know, and the author deserves her credit. You were all so excited and supportive that it has made me emotional at some points.

All the more reason why telling you this is hard.

Of course, I understand if the majority of you will not finish this series, flag it, report it, or even want to look at it ever again. Once again, I am greatly ashamed of this, and I'm feeling rather choked up confessing this to you. But I deserve no less.

You all have been so wonderful and supportive; you deserve it. The fact that I lied to you or didn't bother saying anything . . . no matter how many times I apologize I think it will be an understatement.

So I will be rewriting the first chapter of both _Part One: Armies of Darkness_ , and _Part Two: Rise of the Shadow King_ , as those were just plucked straight from the _Throne of Glass_ series, and there will be another Author's Note giving massive credit to Sarah J. Mass.

I am truly sorry to all of you, and to Sarah for this.

You are all incredible and wonderful. Never forget that.

Thank You,

– KeshaRocks –


	42. Chapter 15 (Part Two)

**~Hello and Good Afternoon my readers. So after the AUTHOR'S NOTE, I am in the process of rewriting two chapters at the moment. As stated in the note, I am and have already completed rewriting** _ **Chapter One**_ **for** _ **Part Two**_ **:** _ **Rise of the Shadow King**_ **, and am currently rewriting** _ **Chapter One**_ **for** _ **Part One: Armies of Darkness**_ **. If I need to edit any more chapters (which I probably will) there will be an icon stating if the chapter is updated. Ex: ~EDITED~**

 **So I ask or recommend that all readers reread Chapter One (labeled Chapter 24) and please give me feedback as always.**

 **And finally, I apologize if this chapter is short, but I hope you all enjoy Chapter Fifteen. ~**

 **Thank you all, and endless love,**

 **~ KeshaRocks Xxx ~**

* * *

Bawdy singing accompanies the music coming from the quintet by the roaring fire. Tonight, because it was just a day before the weekend, the tavern is packed with various nobles, women who are no doubt courtiers and courtesans sitting in their laps, and men – lots and lots of drunk, boisterous men. Card games, dice, barrels of ale free-flowing, the counter smeared with condensation, and bottles of rare wine.

Axel didn't know who was paying for it, but doesn't care. He doesn't even hear the music or the chattering people and their clinking glasses. He merely stares blankly at his mug of half-finished ale.

Like he has for the past year now, Axel comes down to the pub to waste away his sorrows and blow up his money. Since he and his brother share an account, and since Reno seems to be doing fine balancing the bills from his multitude of jobs, Axel can blow as much money as he wants. At least until final call when the tavern closes.

The counter rattles slightly and off to his left, he hears the roaring cheers of a group of men in a drinking contest, one wiping his mouth sloppily with the back of his wrist. Several of the courtesans giggle and clap merrily, a few breaking away from the pack to prowl around tables. One approaches Axel, ready to sell her wares as she sets her hand on his shoulder. But she easily steps away when he turns to her, glaring.

Axel takes another long sip of his fifth mug of the night, probably the least amount he has taken. Or well, anytime his drink count is below double digits is an accomplishment.

What would Roxas think of him now? He would be upset. Disgusted. Hurt. Annoyed. He would think that Axel didn't put forth the time and effort to try and free him from the mines. But even when Axel says he did, Roxas would still be upset. And he would have every reason to be.

Ever since Vanitas had delivered the news of Roxas' capture, it's like the world has blurred together in smears of color. He can't seem to see anything or anyone, but he can make out enough details that he has mentally mapped out, such as the tavern.

Vanitas hasn't been doing much better than Axel, he even thinks the assassin might have it worse than he thought; or rather allowed himself to think. After Vanitas' first couple of attempted suicides, Sora would deliver his food to his room as well as his laundry, and the door to Vanitas' bedroom would always be open so that anyone walking by saw him attempting something, or didn't see him at all, they could check and call to the house.

And only just yesterday did Xigbar discover that Vanitas had trained Artemis to start taking small, sharp objects from the kitchen or just around the house, after Reno and Sora had removed all of Vanitas' weapons and all sharp objects from his room. Xigbar had caught Artemis trying to snatch a small potato peeler, and when he snapped at her, she ran all the way up the steps and towards Vanitas' room.

And then that's when they discovered the assassin with bloodied scars on his thighs, his sheets tainted with drips and the scars trailing all up his forearm. He had started on his thighs because he was running out of room on his arms.

Sora has talked to him several times, but they only make him stop for a day – or two if they're lucky – but he keeps drawing back to it.

One time Sora had said that when he managed to get Vanitas to speak, he had asked why he does it instead of talking about it, Vanitas answered: "Because I've grown so numb from the pain inside, it's the only way I can remind myself that I can still feel."

Before Sora could retort, the assassin added, "You will _never_ understand what someone must feel to hurt their own bodies as a way to heal."

Then he simply turned back towards the fire, silent once again. Artemis has since been forbidden to enter Vanitas' room, and now all she does is lie in front of it whining and clawing at the crevice.

It is times like this Axel wishes he was back in the coma.

Like his left eye, which has lost some of its vision from the venom of a demon Heartless, his entire world looks as if it has been set behind frosted glass. And all he sees are silhouettes. His skin starts to feel slightly warm, and Axel looks down at his finger to see the Celtic knot tattoo that he and Roxas got around their fingers, a symbol of binding two souls together. It intermingles with his other tattoos that trail up his arm. The tattoos that Roxas had liked, and what had inspired the blonde to get one himself.

Axel can still remember the boy's first tattoo: a delicate flame encased in a swirling heart, set just over the actual organ. A symbol that had found its way as a rebel marking when Roxas and several other men were on the run from his father.

Tracing all the way back to their first encounter, Roxas was such a different boy. He was dark, brooding, lethal, dangerous, stubborn, and ignorant. But also strong, caring and determined. With what he has been through – with a messed up mother driven crazy with power, killing his first ever friend, being poisoned by his own father, finding out he holds the gene and power of ancient beings. . . slaughtering countless lives and being branded as a monster.

It's a surprise, but a blessing to see that the boy hasn't cracked. But somehow, Axel can still just _feel_ , that Roxas is so dangerously close to shattering.

It wasn't until five weeks after the news had settled over the mansion did Axel realize something . . . things just haven't been the same between him and Roxas ever since he had discovered that the assassin was Elven. Even he thought he had come to terms with it, and yet, there's still an uneasy feeling within him that he can't quite pinpoint.

But it's also the thing that makes him drink. Whenever it creeps up to the surface of his thoughts, Axel always manages to smother it in more booze. But it still doesn't go away.

There is guilt in it, but still Axel doesn't know what else he could've done, let alone figure out why Roxas' Elven heritage still doesn't sit right with him. Is it because Roxas is much more powerful than Axel? No, is it because Roxas has the possibility to be immortal? Maybe. Axel did read how Elves can live past hundreds and hundreds of years that would turn a mortal to dusts, some living past millennials.

Axel doesn't want to think of how Roxas could be considered a hundred-twenty years old, and still only look nineteen, and then Axel looking as old and wrinkly as a raisin.

Could that be it? Could a simple age deficiency be the one thing that always kept Axel at a cautious distance with Roxas? It's not exactly, unreasonable . . . just . . . an annoyance.

Age shouldn't be the reason why Axel didn't help Roxas when he needed him the most. Roxas had bene just as scared of himself as anyone, and maybe even more. Reno told him about how Roxas was hesitant and _incredibly_ stubborn when it came to training with his elven shifting, they didn't even get the opportunity to practice his magic. And all Axel could do was chuckle, because it sounded so much like Roxas.

He should've kept trying. He _should've_ kept trying.

But instead, when all else failed, he turned to sinking to the bottom of a bottle. It was easier, painless. At least until he starts to think of how they would look. Here he is, drunk and wasted in a bar, surrounded with merriment and laughter, while Roxas is down in the darkness of a mine, surrounded by misery and sadness and death.

Gods, how he must look. _One whole year_.

To think that the mine might be Roxas' final resting place . . . to think that Axel will never get the chance to say goodbye, be able to steal one more hug, one more kiss; never be able to hear Roxas say the words: "I love you" ever again.

To think that Roxas' body could be so carelessly tossed into one of those many mass graves Axel hears so much about. Guards just tossing it into the pile of rotted limbs like he is nothing more.

Axel squeezes his mug so tight that he hears slight cracks. After ignoring a wary glare of the barkeeper, Axel tips the mug to his lips and gulps down the now room-temperature ale. It taste slightly sourer, but he fishes it and belches heavily. Some man who overheard laughed and claps Axel on the shoulder.

The men by the fire carry on in their singing and one man laughs triumphantly as he wins a game of poker. A courtesan giggles as a man starts to slither his hand up her thigh. And soon a small gathering starts to happen as a man begins to tell a story. He just hurried into the tavern, excitement and fear in his eyes.

Axel didn't pay much attention as usual.

And then, he heard them.

The words that had changed everything. The words he thought were supposed to be the starts of a bad joke.

The words that spread like wildfire.

"A young, blonde boy dressed in black, walked into a bar . . ."

* * *

The pounding of hooves churned up the dust of the road, sparking against the cobblestone. He rode up the path to the red-brick mansion at the top of the hill, up to the lonely and scarred boy, sitting in his chair in front of a dying fire.

And that, that was when something had stirred within the lonely boy.

Kingdom Heart's Assassin was alive – and in Valendia.

At first, the lonely boy thought it was a joke, a cruel and unforgiving motivation to get him to stop adding to his collection.

But the excitement, the tears, they were real. He could feel, whatever it was, writhing with emotion. It grew and grew and grew. Until it was as if he was emerging from a cocoon, and he can suddenly hear and see and smell and feel everything once again.

 _Hold on_ , the words had told him.

 _Hold on_.

The fire suddenly grew brighter.


	43. Chapter 16 (Part Two)

Maleek thankfully didn't say anything about Roxas sleeping in his room, nor did he bring it up the next morning at breakfast. Roxas had left Maleek's room around dawn and when he went back to his own chambers and carefully checked his bed, to his relief, the marks were still gone. Maleek came a couple hours later, and after having to pull Roxas from one of the baths in his bathing chamber – Roxas had fallen asleep in it and his skin had pruned – they sat together at breakfast, Roxas glaring at his shriveled fingers. Maleek still didn't say anything, but Roxas could see his face caught between a smile and concern.

Days passed without seeing Kiros, and Roxas still kept quiet about his experience with the prince. He decided to use the hour they'd spent for lessons visiting Seymour's chamber and reading up on the books that informed more about the marks of the Heartless and Nobodies and Dream Eaters.

Then the day came when Maleek waltzed into Roxas' chambers around noon, finding Roxas out on the balcony with a book and a small platter of tea and finger sandwiches. Roxas was dressed in a rose-pink tunic that could pass for a dress, but Roxas didn't care. The guards couldn't see him, and the fabric was so soft that Roxas couldn't help but goofily giggle as the sleeves brushed past his hands and he could tuck the skirt round his knees to keep them warm. Maleek simply raised an eyebrow and had a sly grin on his lips.

Roxas rolled his eyes and placed his book in his lap. "Something I can help with, or are you just going to stare?"

Maleek chuckled and patted Roxas' head. The assassin smacked his hand away. "We're going to be heading out to The Deadlands." Maleek said. "A family came to us and said that their two daughters and their friend snuck out of the house and haven't been back since."

Roxas' throat tightened as he swallowed. "How long ago was this?"

"They snuck out last night."

"And they managed to make it all the way to The Deadlands?" Roxas asked.

"No, no. They have a family home out there." Roxas raised his eyebrow, unconvinced. "Some people like living in the country, Roxas. By choice."

"Okay." Roxas sighed. "So, how will we get there?"

"Well, if you think you can handle it, we were planning to run." Maleek grinned.

Roxas cocked his head and returned the feline expression. "Oh I can handle it. Question is, can you?"

"You dare doubt me?"

"I haven't seen you use your Elven form in a while. I wonder how rusty your instinct are." Roxas says, his smile widening.

"I can outrun you in _any_ form, _any_ day."

"Let's test that later." Roxas winks. "When do we leave?"

"Around early evening. But be down in the grand entryway by five o'clock." And with that, the captain got up and left. Roxas staring after him, watching his muscles shift under his shirt.

Grinding through the hours with reading and training, Roxas made it down at five, dressed in his armored uniform, helmet tucked under his arm. The rest of the warriors had already been down there, armed to the teeth with multiple belts of weapons and blades. Apparently, the missing children case had enough concern to have all members of the Thirteen be involved. But Roxas had a feeling that this mission no doubt involved something dangerous if the entire coven of elven warriors was coming along.

As Maleek came down the steps, his long red cape flowing behind him, Edge came up to Roxas and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Isn't this exciting? We'll finally get to see your little elf form." Edge said with a clap and rubbing of his hands.

"You've already seen it." Roxas said.

"Yeah, but now, we all get to see how fast you are in your other form. If you can beat us as just a mortal boy, this'll be exciting."

"Sounds like a challenge."

Edge grinned as he began to walk towards the double doors of the castle.

And now, here they are, deep within the canyon walls of the Deadlands. The red stone glints in the afternoon light. The thick sequence of ancient rocks that are beautifully preserved and exposed in the walls of the canyon. Nearly two billion years of Earth's geological history have been exposed as the Windsheer River and its tributaries cut their channels through layer after layer of rock.

Roxas is still breathing a little bit as he shields his eyes and tries to gaze up at the towering walls of a cliff. The Thirteen ran the entire way there, and Roxas can't help but pride himself at how he had managed to stay within the middle of the warriors, keeping his eyes on Maleek as he effortlessly led the pack. Roxas would occasionally give a glance to those who surrounded him, and only Edge and Kain spared him a glance.

They stopped to one of the small towns a few miles out from The Deadlands and managed to meet up with the family at their country home. Once they had the story of the three missing girls, Roxas didn't feel that much better.

Apparently, the family assumes that the girls had been carried off by some winged creatures known as Harpies. When questioned with doubt, the family testified that they had seen dark shadows flying overhead in the last hours of light and they heard screeching and screaming. Roxas was the only one who seemed disturbed, whereas everyone else seemed more concentrated. He tried his best to quell his surprise.

Once they left the family and were on the run again, Roxas looked around at everyone else was in their animal forms, astonished. The twins, Cecil and Kain were in their wolf forms, Edge was in the form of a silver-feathered falcon, Vincent was an intimidating black leopard, Laguna was a mountain lion, Seymour a venomous cobra snake – who surprisingly kept up well with the rest of the pack – and Kuja was a purple-tailed hawk.

Since Maleek was the only one Roxas could talk to, he had asked what exactly a Harpy was. But because Maleek claims he 'didn't want Roxas backing out of the mission,' all he answered with was: "You'll find out soon enough."

Oddly, that didn't ease Roxas' nerves at all.

Now they've settled by a magnificent rockfall that flows into a crystal clear river that cuts through the fjord of the canyon's walls. The walls are supposed to be home to the vial creatures, being named the Caves of the Harpy Clan.

Hearing the word _clan_ , Roxas was surprised. He assumed that these creatures were just wild. It never occurred to him that they might be intelligent enough to form groups of tribes with orders of hierarchy. He also has to wonder if the creatures are nocturnal given they live in caves and are doing well to stay out of the sunlight. And the witnesses had said they came out at the last hours of evening twilight. The sky is starting to darken, the blue starting to mingle with shades of orange, pink and purple.

Here it's like a natural oasis; there are patches of flowers in full bloom with grass surrounding it, the air is so clean and fresh. As the cool breeze kissed his face, Roxas leaned into it, almost moaning with pleasure. He set his helmet on a small outcropping of rocks, and quickly found it joined with Cecil's, but Kain kept his on. Roxas knew he had to be sweating buckets underneath it.

A pat on his shoulder drew his attention from the rock wall to turn to his right. There he found Laguna with a canteen of water. Roxas accepted it with a smile and a nod. When Laguna moves on to pass the rest out to the other warriors, Roxas makes his way over to Maleek who is pacing back and forth, looking for an entrance.

"See anything?" Roxas asks.

"Not form this angle. The walls are too high." He breaths.

Taking a long gulp from his canteen, Roxas angles his head as he stares at Maleek. Neither of them had bothered to shift back into their mortal form, and frankly, Roxas didn't want to if it meant having to give up enjoying this otherwise beautiful nature experience. With his clear vision and enhanced hearing, he can hear everything, smell everything. Just see . . . _everything_.

As he often did while training with Reno, he questioned why he was so afraid to shift when it meant that he could hold this power and ability at will. But then again, back then, Roxas was afraid of his own power, and while he and the other members have yet to test his control over his magic, Roxas felt more confident than ever the more he shifted.

Shifting alone of course, can't really control it, but it's a small start. Compared to how he had felt under the control of his mother's poison, being able to shift on his own, at his own will was rewarding enough. And the pain was becoming less and less dominant whenever he did.

Looking at Maleek, Roxas had to wonder if Maleek ever shifted while he was undercover in the Faceless. His ears point out past his curtain of sandy-blonde hair, and his sharpened canines poke out ever so slightly past his full and smooth lips. His features are much more pronounced; even his jawline seemed more attractive. And then there was the fact that Maleek was so kind and endearing to Roxas despite his rough exterior. . .

Roxas shakes his head, nearly smacking himself with his canteen as he turns away from Maleek. But when he looks to the river, it's just in time to watch Vincent Valentine shrug off his shirt to get to at the weapons strapped beneath, revealing his broad back, muscled and scarred and glorious. Then there's Cecil who is rinsing out his hair, his abdominal muscles looking like little bricks stacked in two columns of . . . twelve?! Roxas only had a six pack. Emphasis on the word _had_. He is still trying to gain back the muscle he'd lost from the mines but . . .

Roxas continue to watch awkwardly as Cecil began to rinse his hands, neck and chest. Roxas watched him sidelong, the way the water gleamed on his skin in the sunlight.

Okay, fine – some _very_ feminine, innate part of him appreciated _that_. And he didn't really mind the warriors' half-nakedness. Roxas supposed there was no part of them that would be much of a surprise either, thanks to Axel. But – no, he can't think about Axel. Not when he was finally feeling clear-headed and good and _happy_.

"Alright, I guess we'll have to start climbing." Maleek says. The other Elven warriors shrug on their clothes and armor.

Roxas approaches the wall again and Maleek hands each of the warriors a rope. Roxas takes it and slings it across his torso, but he doesn't prep it. In his own way of thinking, using the rope seems like more hassle than just climbing it bare handed. It would be most impressive to the Thirteen, but will he be capable of it; even in his Elven form? He remembers when he was able to climb the walls of the castle back in Traverse Town. He could climb from the very bottom all the way up to his balcony of his room that was at least ninety feet off the ground. The good old days.

Angling his head awkwardly, he can see a large cave entrance roughly about the same height. Sighing, Roxas looks to his left and finds Maleek smiling. Roxas smirks in return and follows after Laguna. They start climbing, not much talking exchanged safe for Laguna and Kuja making simple exchange about the upcoming Samhain festival.

Soon as they reach the thirty foot mark, Roxas' legs begin to tremble and his fingers are starting to ache. He still doesn't want to pull out the rope until he reaches fifty feet. Kuja, Laguna and Seymour are using them, and the rest climb without it. Cecil and Kain, Edge and Vincent are in a way, a healthy rivals.

And that's when Roxas remembers why it is he is here in the first place.

He _needs_ to become the leader of the Thirteen. Now King Sephiroth didn't say anything about the other members striving to become leader as well, he didn't even say whether or not they _wanted_ to be leader, let alone the King's Champion. And Maleek seems to be doing a good job, steering, the group in the right direction, but maybe it's only because he's Captain of the Guard. Which still asks the question: Who is the leader, if the King claims there isn't one? Do they just settle issues with group voting?

He doesn't have time to think about it. He needs to focus on showing off his skills; even if that means grappling the hot and sharp stone with his hands and feet, and passing up all of the large enough ledges and layered stones that provide solid footing. The only thing that demands concern is the large rock overhang above, which no doubt is like the perching area for the harpies.

Gritting his teeth, Roxas continues up after sparing a glance at the other warriors next to him. He doesn't look down, as it's always a bad idea. At least his father had the sense to make Roxas stand on the very ledge of their mansion home for hours, to get him accustomed to heights. But still, even he still has that urge to jump when standing in high places.

He climbs upwards, grateful that his boots could dig into small cracks between the stones. The sound of trickling pebbles forces his head to look up just as Edge calls, "Heads up!"

Immediately Roxas looks back down, blocking his head with his left hand. He feels dust hiss in his ear and pat his hair, pebbles sprinkling past him and tapping his fingers. Roxas mentally curses himself for not bringing along his helmet. It's still resting on the rocks below by the river. Once the thin shower is over, Roxas immediately shakes out his hair, stirring up a small plume of dust. He looks up and finds Edge with a guilty smile. "Sorry." He says.

Roxas simply shakes his head, snarling and continues climbing up. The ache and throbbing in his fingers and toes is getting harder and harder to ignore, but thankfully there's a ledge up ahead. He is at least in the middle of the group, Maleek and Kain leading them. So Roxas maneuvers his way right and gasps as he grabs the ledge and hoists himself up, his arms shaking. When his feet plant on the ledge, relief floods him and he kneels on it.

He flexes his fingers, both stiff and covered with light red dust from the rocks. He pops all of his knuckles and flexes his fingers back repeatedly. Looking at the other warriors, they climb with ease, with a rope or not, and barely breaking a sweat. Vincent swings the lasso of his rope around a protruding rock above him and swings himself high enough to land on it. Maleek mimics the maneuver, throwing the rope to his right, but instead, he pulls himself up and repeats it to the higher ledge on his left.

Roxas sighs heavily as he rises from his kneeling position and first settles his fingers into a crook in the rocks, and then swings himself over, his feet thankfully finding another crevice. He shimmies up the wall, thankful to find a sturdy branch above him. Taking deep breaths, preparing for the bolts of soreness, Roxas jumps, and grabs the branch, swinging himself upwards. His foot slips as he settles on it, nearly pushing him forward, but his hand reaches out and grabs the wall.

Unfortunately, the motion had caused him to look down. He beholds the tiny dot that is now his helmet on the stones, the river itself looking no bigger than a beetle bug. A shudder runs through him. He needs a distraction.

Without thinking, he speaks. "So, Maleek." The captain pauses and looks down, his eyes so calm, unphased by the fact that they've now past the seventy foot mark. "How is it that the gods could make such repulsive creatures, if going by your description?"

Maleek looks back up for a moment and spares Roxas a quick glance before continuing his climb as he says, "Well, the story goes that over six hundred years ago, The Harpies was once the name of a clan of witches, and they worshipped Erinyes, their chaotic deity of vengeance. Back then, The Deadlands was part of their kingdom."

Roxas keeps flicking his eyes from Maleek to the rock wall so that he knew where to place his foot and hand.

"They were at war with the Orcs at the time, and when they had been overrun and forced to flee, the witches wanted to curse the goblins; to destroy them as the Orcs had destroyed their land and their kingdom. So, the last Harpy Queen cursed the land to turn against any who bared the blood of an Orc. Plants withered and died, animals fled or starved and the water was undrinkable."

"What does that have to do with them being bird mutants?" Roxas asks. As he finishes his question, his boot suddenly slips on a stone and there is a quick sense of falling, his body swinging slightly as his fingers suddenly dig into the stone. A gasp escapes his lips, loud enough that nearly all of the warriors freeze and a large hand braces against the small of Roxas' back. Roxas quickly grasps the stone again, his heart thundering and eyes wide. He is starting to shake, but even so, he slowly turns to look over his shoulder and finds Cecil's hand is the one bracing him against the stone. The Elven warrior's eyes are slightly wide, his eyebrows high. Roxas swallows, his breathing fast. "Thanks." He says, embarrassed to hear his own voice shaking.

Cecil nods his head and climbs up, keeping his hand on Roxas' back until he is level with the assassin. He doesn't move, so Roxas allows himself to brace against Cecil's strong hand, the warrior's fingers nearly big enough that his fingers nearly touched Roxas' ribs.

Roxas quickly shakes out his arms and shakes his head, taking deep breaths. He sparse Cecil a stare of appreciation. Without much of a warning, Roxas grips the stone again and starts to climb. His fingers still ache, but he hides it until he is level with Maleek, eyes still wide. "You were saying?" Roxas says with an overly bright smile and exhale.

Maleek blinks at Roxas for a moment, baffled, but he then shakes his head and continues up. The entrance to the cave grows closer, and right now, Roxas would rather take his chances with the creatures than have to keep climbing more of this confounded rock.

"Anyway, the witches were once gifted with eternal beauty, but when they prayed to their goddess for power capable of defeating the Orcs, in turn, they ended up sacrificing their humanity to become the vial creatures they are now. With the gift of flight, they became a deadly aerial cavalry.

"Even after their victory over the Orcs, there was still trouble within the clan. Only afterwards did they realize that invoking their goddess's power, it had cursed them as well." Maleek hoists himself onto a ledge nearest the entrance to the cave, and automatically holds out his hand to Roxas. The assassin takes it without thinking. "They say that the Mother Matriarch Alecto was fighting for dominance with her daughter Tisiphone." Maleek says, then grunts as he hoists Roxas onto the ledge. "Their power struggle ended in murder, as they cannibalized each other's children."

A chill goes down Roxas' spine.

"Tisiphone ended up defiling the ways of their goddess, and murdering her mother by burning her alive and eating her heart. The Harpies then rebelled and ended up ripping Tisiphone apart and burning her pieces. They each ate a part of her head and gave her brain as a form of peace offering for their goddess."

"Gods above." Roxas says.

"Without an official Queen to rule the Clan, the rest of the Harpies scattered. And now here we are, present day." Maleek says as he splays his arms out.

"Well, what about that curse?" Roxas asks as Edge swings up onto their ledge.

"With the death of the Harpy Queens, the curse was never lifted. The lands are still fertile now, beautiful even, since the Orcs have since migrated further south."

"Only to be overthrown by Kerwon." Vincent suddenly chimes as he hoists himself up onto the ledge. Maleek instantly shushes him as they each near the entrance to the cave.

Maleek and Roxas shimmy their way across to the large protruding rock at the mouth of the cave entrance. It stretches far enough that it acts as a runway for the creatures before they take off. He dares to peer over the edge once more as the remaining Thirteen members make it to the ledge. Now the mouth of the river is nothing more than the size of an ant. He can't even see his helmet anymore.

He had climbed the ninety feet, without a rope. He had made it.

Sighing, he doesn't have time to congratulate himself as Laguna starts to pace like the mountain cat he is, glaring at the cave entrance and Kain suddenly starts to snarl.

Roxas' ears perk and he whirls his head towards the mouth of the cave where the light from the remaining day barely makes it past the threshold before it is just thick, endless darkness. He can barely hear it, but it's still there . . . the shuffling of, feet?

He takes one step towards the cave, but something snaps and pops under his foot. His second step slips on the jagged edge of something hard, and he stumbles back, his feet sending up a rush of dust.

Regaining his balance, the light confirms his worst fear.

Bones and ash scattered the floor. His fingers curled, aching to reach for Oathkeeper strapped to his belt.

"Holy gods." Laguna says.

Hands shaking, Roxas kneels down and slides his fingers beneath what looks to be a cap of an ancient skull. It was, indeed, the broken sliver of a face, the curve of a cheek all too evident in the outline. All the pieces were similarly identifiable. Broken fingers, like tiny tombstones, lay scattered in the dust. Half of a hand here. Part of an arm there. A jaw. And ear.

Each and every one of them white as ivory and picked clean.

Roxas flung the shard aside. He stood, wiping his hands on his grime-caked pants, then stepping back until he is in line with the rest of the Elven warriors.

"Be ready." Maleek warns, but none of the warriors reach for their weapons.

And then an unworldly, undoubtable feminine laugh echoes from the mouth of the cave. "Now this is a sight that we haven't seen for an age." The voice is scratchy, dry and has a distinct hiss to it.

Roxas' hair immediately stands on end, but he keeps his face neutral like everyone else, raising his chin and keeping his back straight. There was still enough available light to reveal several pairs of luminescent eyes within the void. They are ancient, merciless – and three massive shadows are slowly lurk within the blackness. More clicking of anisodactyl feet

The voice says, now closer, talons ticking against the dirt. "I can't remember the last time we had been blessed with such, beauty in our presence."

Scratching above makes Roxas look up and he forces himself to stay calm, to hide his fear as he watches one of the harpy creatures crawl along the side of the cave out of the shadows, stopping just at the threshold of light.

Her talon hands are scaly like a bird's and they dig into the stone, making her cling to the wall like a spider. Her arms are thin, covered with liver spots, and sprouting with feathers into a full blown wing. When she turns her head to Roxas, his stomach sinks. Her eyes are narrow, and when she grins at him, her thin lips peel back to reveal rows of white teeth, small and sharp and needle-thin. Her smile stretches from ear to ear, and her thin, faded brown hair falls around her head like thin threads.

"Pardon us if we don't seem appreciative of your compliment." Maleek suddenly says, his voice steady.

"It's alright. It's understandable, even." The harpy muses. "I'm sure you're much used to it by now; mortals and elves alike groveling at your feet, begging you to bear their eggs, or seeds if you acquire a different . . . taste."

Then she emerges into the murky light, the shadows receding from her like water, slowly exposing her to The Thirteen. Roxas doesn't stop himself as he takes half a step back as two more follow her into the light.

Hideous avian-like humanoids with scraggly hair, pale skin, hooked noses and sold black eyes. Their limbs are long and bony, and their hands and feet each have four digits ending in sharp talons. They are dressed in tattered garments and have feathers growing out of their shins and their forearms, or their arms entirely are wings.

But the "leader", her arms are clearly visible, and her wings are on her back. Perhaps there are just varieties of these creatures.

Her hair has been replaced with black feathers that look like the wind has permanently blown them backwards. The blackness continues in her eyebrows, her lips and in the feathers that gather around her perfectly-shaped breasts and around her thin waist, covering her intimate area. It trails behind her in a tail, and coppery-brown strips cover her neck, shoulders, arms, thighs, and ribs. One of them forming a V shape on her forehead. She has a scar in the corner of her mouth and her long black claw nails click as she twindles her four fingers at her sides.

Roxas can almost understand how the witches they were before did hold a form of unworldly beauty.

As she steps closer, Roxas examines her legs – long and smooth and muscled, every inch of elegantly built. He finds himself oddly fascinated with how she steps down; her talons scratch the earth slightly and yet she walks with a certain, feline grace.

Vincent lets out a low growl, but Seymour holds out a hand to silence him.

"We've come to talk to you." Maleek says, but he doesn't take a step forward.

"Oh," the harpy leader says softly. "I am, how you say in the capital, "All ears.""

Roxas makes note of the two other harpies that are guarding her sides, and two more dark shadows churning in the back. Off-spring, minions, or guards? But for some reason, the one clinging to the wall on the left is bothering him the most. She still hasn't taken her eyes off of him, not even to look at the others. She stares, unblinking at Roxas, her wide grin molded to her face.

"We've gotten reports of a missing children. And we were told they were seen by your clan's location." Maleek says.

"Did they, now?" the harpy remains motionless, but the two behind her creep closer, silent and observing with their dark eyes. "I can assure you that we have a mutual respect with the humans out here in The Deadlands. We keep to our perimeters." She gives a soft, wicked laugh. "However, there is the . . . unfortunate time when a mortal wanders too far from their home."

Roxas flicks his eyes to his left and to his right. Each of the elven warriors are vigilant; their focus is pinned on the avian creatures, tense from the tips of their noses to their armored boots. He tries not to step away as the one harpy clinging to the wall crawls closer to him, nearly hanging from the ceiling above him. Or look for the eyes he can feel watching The Thirteen from the nearby cave across the way.

Roxas nearly yelps pathetically as the harpy finally drops from the ceiling, her taloned feet blooming up clouds of ash and dirt. The rest of the members jerk their heads towards him and Roxas can't tear his eyes away from her. Her massive black eyes take him in, swallowing him whole.

Silence falls as the two flanking the leader take small steps closer.

"I like your hair." The harpy then says, her voice sounding just as dry, but higher in pitch.

Roxas tries not to think about the size of the claw of the thumb talon as it reaches for his head. It delicately hooks the strands of hair closest to his ear, the tip of the nail brushing against his skin. It feels as cold as steel in the winter.

He flicks his eyes to her, and she is taller than him by three feet. Her face leans in closer, and the smell of rotting flesh infects his nose. "It reminds me of silk."

"I suppose I should be flattered." Roxas says, surprising even himself when his voice comes out so smooth.

"Tell me your name, elf warrior."

"My name does not matter." Roxas says.

He tries not to flinch as the harpy comes even closer. Her nostrils flaring, her warm breath tickling his cheek. "You don't smell like the rest. You bear the scent of a mortal." Roxas' hair stands on end. "You are a _half-breed_."

He can see the lead harpy cock her head. And then when she grins, more pointed, white teeth are revealed. She takes another step towards the warriors, and this time, Roxas can see the warriors' fingers twitching.

Roxas doesn't particularly care about his beauty, weapon though it is.

"My sister does make a point." The lead harpy says, her large feet tapping against the dust and stone. Kain stops her with a warning growl that sets the other two harpies coming up behind her. "Your beauty could win you a Queen, perhaps even a King. The color of your skin, the hue of your turquoise eyes. The way your hair catches the light, like moonlight on water."

"We've come for three children. Girls. Two sisters and a friend." Roxas suddenly demands.

"Oh, children." The leader harpy purrs. "So fresh, so young."

"So you've seen them." Roxas continues. He tilts his head away, feeling his hair leave the harpy's long, hooked black nail.

"Why yes. I do recall. We actually have them in the cave."

"Bring them out." Roxas demands. But he has a sinking feeling in his stomach. He's expecting the worse.

The harpy grows still further. She turns to the two waiting behind her. "Bring out the three children. We shouldn't keep the assassin waiting."

Roxas' heart sinks. He watches the two scuttle back into the cave. When the harpy leader turns back, she smiles again. "How did you –"

"There are some things that you can't hide, assassin." The harpy says. "Or you can try underneath powders and clothes and magic. But your _true_ scent will always betray you. And I can smell _years_ and _years_ of blood on you. It's rather . . . intoxicating." The harpy comes closer. "And your scars . . . what dark, horrible tales they must tell."

A shiver runs up Roxas' spine, tickling the back of his head. He doesn't dare break his gaze from the harpy.

"I have seen eyes like yours before." She continues. "They belong to that of the King of Valendia. Now there's a man, no – a _species_ of true beauty. Might I ask, what your relation is to the king –?"

A sudden ear-ringing screech nearly causes Roxas to jolt. All heads turn towards the darkness as two harpies are accompanied by a third, each carrying a scrawny, darkened thing. Immediately Roxas' thoughts think back to the husk body to draw comparisons.

His fear and anger are growing towards their peak to where he will soon draw his sword. He was surprised and curious as to why the elven warriors didn't just attack the creatures straight away, but now, he knew that plundering head long in would've been foolish. With the caves being dark and the light nearly gone, the harpies would be at the advantage, and who's to say how many more are hidden away in the belly of the cave.

Someone strikes a flint, and each of the harpies hiss, but it's out of annoyance as they shield their eyes until they adjust. The three harpies approach, dragging limbs and disturbingly thin bodies.

Roxas' knees quake as he beholds what was the three children. He can't even tell who was who.

One of them was nothing more than a pile of bones, white as ivory and picked completely clean. Not even a hint of red left on them. The second girl, she was severely gaunt and inhuman. Her now white flesh was sunk deep into her cheeks to reveal the contours of her skull, her lips shriveled back to expose her yellowed teeth. Her nose has dissolved into a hole while her eyes, hollow, are sunken pits lit by the remaining white, looking like nothing more than a pinprick of light.

And the third girl, she was nothing more than a skeleton with skin stretched tightly over her. Her skin milky white, and her shoulders are racklike and her hair is scraggly, stringy clumps. More ghoul now than human.

This time Roxas can't hide his disgust, his shock and his horror. He dares to take a couple steps towards the girls, the leader harpy stepping aside. He can feel the members shift behind him, eyeing him carefully.

When he kneels before the third girl, he can't help but wonder if the harpies are connected to the creature he had seen in the barrows. These girls look fairly similar to the husk bodies he had investigated with Reno and Maleek. And with their past reputation of being witches, who's to say that they still aren't practicing their dark ways in secret?

As his ears perk this way and that, he takes the girl's limp hand in his own, her skeletal fingers make her knuckles bigger than the actual digit.

And then there's a twitch. Roxas' eyes widen. The harpies didn't expect it either, as he can see them gaze at the body out of his peripherals. Taking his pointer finger and thumb, Roxas takes the middle finger of the body and squeezes it. The twitch happens again, and this time it ripples through the hand, each finger shaking, struggling to lift themselves.

Roxas can feel the leader's eyes upon him, and that one with needle teeth come closer to him. There's a snarl from one of the Thirteen. The feeling of unease grows in the pit of his stomach.

Roxas takes the girl's chin, as gently as he dares and carefully lifts her head to face him. Her eyes are closed, but he can see movement behind them. It looks as if it's taking all of her strength just to open her eyes. Before Roxas can lift the lids with his thumb, they slowly open themselves, and they reveal a pair of stunning gold-burnt eyes.

They slowly blink a couple times, and he can see the blackness of the pupil shrink before expanding. Her eyes then shift, in a way. They look as if they're trying to widen with surprise and awe, but Roxas isn't sure.

Either way, he's ready to behead all of these harpies.

The girl's mouth part, and her throat bobs slightly, trying to speak or make even the slightest noise. But Roxas simply purses his lips, shushing her. She closes her mouth and he slowly lowers her head.

"What did you do?" Roxas asks as he glances over his shoulder, well aware of the approaching harpy.

Her smile gone, she blinks at Roxas, angling her chin. "We do what any predator would do when a youngling wanders into their territory."

"Normal predators would simply eat them and be done with it."

"But we're not normal." The harpy snaps, and then Edge is the first to set his hand on his bladed boomerangs.

"That's obvious. What did you do? Drain their life force? I had no idea you, ladies, were still dappling in your lost arts." Roxas says, with the tension slowly building, he doesn't bother hiding his snarl.

"We've done no such thing, I can assure you." The lead harpy says, returning the snarl. "You think it is an easy task trying to mimic our rituals with these _retched_ hands? No! We merely treated them with regular starvation."

Roxas takes a daring step towards the harpy. "We're taking her home." Roxas demands.

The lead harpy doesn't say anything. She merely glares at Roxas, her teeth bared in hatred. She then says, "Did you really think it would be that easy? That you would just state it and I would obey?"

Roxas daringly leans in and grins. "I don't want it to be easy." He says raspy.

Before she can react, Roxas shoves the lead harpy forward before whirling around and unsheathing Oathkeeper. There the blade slices clean through another, smaller harpy who was pouncing towards Roxas. His blade cuts the creature at a diagonal, and green blood splatters on his armor and drips thickly down the steel of the sword.

As Roxas dives for the girl, he sees the light of the flare go over his head and land deeper in the cave, illuminating more and more of the winged atrocities like bats. When Roxas slices the throat of the harpy holding the barely-alive girl, the two beside it are tackled by Cecil and Kain in their wolf form.

The harpies hiss and scatter from the walls, their screams and howls echoed like firecrackers. The cave becomes a riot of blood and feathers and skin flying everywhere.

Roxas scoops the girl in his arms and heads for the entrance. Seymour spins his staff and aims the head towards the blackness of the cave and out shoots a bright ball of light that lands in the halfway point, illuminating it far better. Maleek, Vincent, Kuja and Laguna are slicing and slashing anything who flies past them. When one harpy with rotted-green wings crashes into Kuja, sending him rolling falling off the edge of the cliff, a clipped cry escapes from Roxas, but then he sees a ripple of light and a purple-tailed hawk comes flying up, cawing at the creatures.

Keeping the girl in his arms, Roxas drops to one knee and shields her with his body. He grabs his cape and uses it as extra protection as he watches the majority of the harpies fly out of the cave, following Kuja like a flock of bats against the now pink sky. As they swell and churn, Roxas stands and looks around. Edge lands a few feet away from him, skillfully spins his boomerangs before whipping them at two more of the winged-monstrosities. The blades slice the creatures cleanly in half. They drop to the floor, their green blood pooling together.

"Edge!" Roxas shouts. The silver-haired assassin catches and shakes out his weapons before turning to Roxas. The blonde shoves the girl into Edge's arms. "Get her out of here," he whirls to Seymour. "Seymour, you go with him. See if you can restore her. We'll handle the harpies."

The sorcerer pushes off a harpy with dirtied pink wings and fries her with a blast of fire from his staff. He simply nods his head and says, "Be safe."

"We'll see you back in town." Edge calls as they both hurry for the cliff edge and Edge spins and lassos his still tied rope around a thick branch off to the side.

They grapple down the cliff and Roxas spins Oathkeeper in his hand as he joins Maleek, Vincent, Laguna, and the twins.

Cecil and Kain are still in their wolf form, Cecil leaping up and latching his jaw down on the ankle of harpy while Kain mauls the face of another. Vincent is using some wicked looking daggers, keeping his pistol sheathed knowing the sound would be too eradicating in this enclosed space. Already the ground if covered with a thick puddle of the creatures' blood.

Roxas sprints past Vincent and Laguna and brings his sword forward. He immediately slices off the arm of a harpy and cuts her from neck to navel in the same motion. As the blood splashes on him in a warm coat, as he listens to the sound of bones cracking and flesh sloshing apart, he can't help but smile. In times like this, it's just a smorgasbord of _fun_.

The next harpy that dives for him, teeth bared and claws ready, Roxas drops to a crouch and spins upwards slicing through its middle. He spins out of the way of another and slices two oncoming more, one in the stomach and lopping off one's head. Remembering his rope, he shrugs it off, ties it into a lasso and spins the rope for a few seconds and hooks it around the neck of a harpy. He swings the harpy in a circle and into two more still emerging from the cave. They hit the ground unconscious.

The deeper he gets into the cave, the ceiling grows higher. So Roxas pushes off his feet as another one of the avian creatures dive-bombs for him and Roxas lands on top of it, smashing his foot through its skull and splaying its brains along the wall.

As he leaps again, he slices off the arm of another harpy, kicking another to the side then plummeting the blade of Oblivion into its chest and using their momentum to spin and kick the creature to the ground. With the light left by Seymour, the shadows of the creatures double, but Roxas' blade still finds its home in flesh.

Everyone knew that they couldn't eliminate the entire hive of the creatures, just dwindle their numbers and distract them enough until they knew that Edge and Seymour have safely left the area with the girl. And with Kuja out there keeping an aerial surveillance, really, all Roxas had to do was enjoy himself and the carnage. He can feel scratches forming on his cheeks and kinking against his armor, but all it does is reverberate through his bones adding fuel to the fire that is burning excitingly inside of him.

Cecil and Kain sprint past him into the belly of the cave, and Roxas doesn't have any desire to follow them. Really all of the excitement was in here. Down there they were probably just inspecting more to see if they had any other prisoners. Roxas punches another harpy square in the face and hops running on it and flipping off and slicing Oathkeeper through another.

The caw of a hawk makes the warriors turn their heads towards the entrance and they see Kuja diving for the cliff. Roxas is soaked with blood by now, is stains his face, his armor, his clothes. He can feel it seeping into his hair and practically dripping from his armor. He sprints towards the entrance as he sees the main flock coming back towards the cave.

He sees Maleek and Vincent both painted in the green blood like Roxas, but not as much. Roxas stops in front of Kuja, who flaps his wings to keep himself hovering. "Kuja, keep an eye on Edge and Seymour, when they make it to civilization, come back and let us know."

The purple-tailed hawk caws and then turns way and flies off towards the direction of Edge and Seymour.

"Roxas!" Maleek screams and the assassin looks over his shoulder and ducks in time as the captain chops off the head of a purple-winged harpy was about to sink her teeth into Roxas' neck. When Maleek hoists Roxas to his feet, the assassin can't help but smile as Maleek's eyes widen at the blood that steams down Roxas' chin and dripping off his chin.

Roxas doesn't spare him a thank you as he dives back into the mouth of the cave, pulling out Oblivion. He wants to dirty the blade as much as Oathkeeper is.

But as he goes to slice, he's suddenly tacked from the side. Rolling through the puddle of green blood, the substance now nearly completely covering his head and shoulders, he finds himself pinned by the lead harpy, her black eyes wild with fury. She hisses and brings her clawed talons up. Roxas brings Oathkeeper up and blocks her swipe and hugs his ankles around her neck and flings her off. Pushing himself to his feet, Roxas cringes slightly, his neck retracting into his shoulders as he feels the blood seep past the black jumpsuit under his armor pieces and slowly starts to trial down his spine.

The lead harpy pushes to her feet, her feathers tainted with the blood. She grins at him and charges forward, spaying her arms behind her ready to swipe. Roxas sheathes Oathkeeper and grips Oblivion. With most of the harpies outside now, the two of them dance in the blood that now floods the cave. Her claws clang against Oblivion's blade and Roxas' armored gauntlets whenever she went for his face. She smacks it aside and managed to swipe her claws against Roxas' breastplate. Hard enough that sparks fly and white streaks are left behind. Roxas bolts for her and after their weapons clash again, Roxas kicks out her talon feet and spins, kicking her in the stomach.

When she hits the ground, Roxas pins her there, straggling her with his legs and stabs Oblivion and Oathkeeper into the ground so that the blades form an X against her skin. One simply move and she will slice her own throat.

"Your head might look good on my wall. Or maybe I can sell it to some scientist for a good price." Roxas says with a deadly grin.

But as he's about to behead the wicked thing, a sudden commotion makes him look up to the cave entrance. There he finds Maleek and Vincent still swatting against the harpies who circle around the mouth. Behind him, Cecil and Kain come up and there are brief flashes of light and they are in their immortal forms, their armor relatively clean compared to Roxas.

Then he hears Maleek shout, and Roxas sees a harpy fly past him, knocking the captain to the ground. Maleek rolls on his sides and manages to push himself to one knee, but then another one smacks into him and he's sent rolling again over the cliff's ledge. Roxas freezes, his breath catching as Maleek scrapes his hands and blades against the stone to catch hold.

His dagger manages to snag, but he's so close to the edge. And without a nearby ledge or a branch to grasp, he has nowhere to go but down. A simple slipping of the foot, and he'd fall.

"Maleek." Roxas nearly whimpers.

Maleek pushes himself up and manages to duck as one harpy tries to smack at him from behind, but two more come swooping past him one way and then another. His foot scrapes against stone. Maleek still slices at the creatures, but he doesn't have enough time to move away from the ledge, and the harpies know this.

Roxas feels his heart lodge in his throat.

There's the sound of claws shrieking against metal and a boot scraping against stone.

Then, there's Maleek's cry of fear and horror and Roxas watches as a harpy swipes past him and Maleek fumbles over the edge of the cliff.

"Maleek!" Roxas screams before he can control himself.

He leaves behind his bloodied blades and somehow manages to find his rope in the toe-deep puddles of blood. The entire thing is now dyed green, but Roxas doesn't allow himself to focus on the smell. A harpy with yellow wings that hovers in front of the entrance only has time to screech as Roxas slams onto the creature's head, gripping its horns and twists. He hears the bones in its neck pop and its body slouches.

Roxas ties one end of the rope to a thick branch an arm's length away from the cave's entrance. He ties the other end around his waist. It's long enough – and strong enough.

Sprinting down the long protruding stone, Roxas launches himself over the edge.


	44. Chapter 17 (Part Two)

Wind tears at Roxas' face. He could swear he feels the skin around his cuts ripping further, but he keeps his focus on Maleek, falling so fast, so far from his outstretched hands. The minute he jumped off the cliff, Roxas can feel the muscles behind his eyes flex and the clear film of his third eyelids slide into place, shielding his vision from the wind.

Roxas straightens himself like an arrow, pressing his arms at his sides and pointing his toes. He immediately gains speed towards Maleek. And there he is, just a hand's breadth from Roxas' fingers, his sapphire eyes wide, his arms flailing as if he could turn them into wings.

Pushing himself further, Roxas has his arm around Maleek's middle in a heartbeat. He slams into the captain so hard that the breath is knocked from Roxas' chest. Together, they plummet like a stone, down, down, down, the wind becoming defeating to the point that Roxas doesn't think he'll be able to hear afterwards.

Maleek grabs the rope, and Roxas nearly feels his stomach heave up into his throat as the rope goes taut, tightening around his middle. The impact is blinding, and when Roxas opens his mouth to grunt at the pain, he expects his stomach to go flying out. He holds onto Maleek with every ounce of nerve and strength he has, willing his arms to not let go. _Never let go_.

The rope sends them swinging towards the wall and Roxas buries his head in Maleek's armored shoulder. He feels Maleek turn and his back slams into the stone, the impact busting through Roxas side and shoulder. He still holds tight to Maleek, focusing on his arms, on his too-shallow breathing and making sure he doesn't vomit over Maleek's shoulder.

They hang there, flat against the wall. Roxas is panting as he looks at the ground sixty feet below. Maleek rotates them and plants his feet against the stone wall, his one arm holding the rope tight. Thank the gods it didn't snap.

"Roxas." Maleek says, gasping for breath. He presses his face onto Roxas' hair. "Gods, above." Maleek adjusts his legs so that they support Roxas', which have gone limp, and his free arm finally wraps around Roxas, the warmth of his palm between his shoulder blades makes the assassin loosen his muscles, if only slightly.

Lifting his head, Roxas dares himself to look at Maleek, and the captain's eyes blink and widen at the sight of the filmy look of Roxas eyes, but when Roxas blinks, the third eyelid retracts and revealing his turquoise eyes. He can't stop here. He needs to climb back up, despite an overwhelming want to just let Maleek carry him back up to the cliff. Roxas clenches his jaw. When his arms move, it feels like they're not even his, like he's been disconnected from himself. Shaking, numb, Roxas' skin stings as he slides his feet along the cracks to find solid footing. His skin is raw and bleeding, but he can't remember how, unless it was an injury from one of the harpies and he didn't notice. Carefully, carefully, he starts to pull himself up.

"Thanks." Maleek breathes. His legs suddenly lock Roxas in place on top of him.

"What –?" Roxas' question is cut off when the rope tug at his torso two times and he looks up to find Cecil, Laguna, Vincent and Kain looking over the edge. Their cheers are swept up by the wind.

Relief floods him at the thought of not having to do anymore work, and so he allows Maleek's arm to pull him back down to his cheeks is resting against Maleek's shoulder. Roxas jolts, Maleek's arm keeping him in place as he feels Maleek's fingers untie the tainted rope around Roxas' torso.

More relief and relaxation even floods into Roxas' stomach, despite still feeling it turning over and over and over. With one hand, Roxas watches as Maleek makes a double knot in the rope and gives it two tugs. Slowly, ever so slowly, they are pulled up the wall.

Roxas doesn't say anything as he puts his fully body weight onto Maleek who scales the rock wall with Cecil and Laguna carefully pulling the rope.

When they make it to the cliff, Roxas still doesn't move even when he feels Vincent's strong hands gently grab him by an arm and around his side, and he feels solid rock beneath him. His eyes are still closed tightly, his arms are still coiled around Maleek, despite the snickers from the three warriors. Roxas can feel Maleek shift in his grip and it isn't until he says Roxas' name does the assassin blink his eyes open. "Roxas."

There he finds Maleek's deep sapphire eyes staring at him, the captain is propped up on his elbows, his hand still on Roxas' ribs. Still feeling numb, Roxas flicks his eyes around and pushes himself up on his hands and knees. "You good?" he asks Maleek.

"Yeah, thanks." Maleek says.

Pushing to his feet, the world tilts and Roxas tumbles into Laguna, who catches him with a tentative laugh. He steadies Roxas and Cecil hands the assassin Oblivion and Oathkeeper. Roxas sheathes the blades, the blood now dry and chipping off the steel.

It is then does Roxas look towards the entrance of the cave and finds green blood pooling from the mouth and streaming over the opposite edge of the cliff. Taking steps towards the entrance, his feet splashing in the thick puddle of blood, Roxas peers inside and finds the lead harpy dead, her head chopped off and hideously mauled. He shudders at the thought of Kain or Cecil being responsible.

Maleek comes up next to Roxas and smiles. "Ready to go home?"

Roxas looks to him with terrified eyes at the thought of having to climb all the way back down the wall. At this Maleek chuckles, and Roxas almost smacks him heavily in the face.

"Don't worry, we're not climbing down."

"Then how will we get home?" Roxas asks, needing to clear his throat.

"We're going to wait for Seymour to get back, he can hopefully provide an easier way down." says Maleek.

"We'll smell like blood by the time he gets here." Roxas says, his enhanced smell picking up the odor of the blood. He realizes he still hasn't shifted back into his mortal form, and frankly, he doesn't want to. It perplexes him even more when he realizes that when he was attacking the harpies, it had felt, normal to be fighting them. He felt like he always had when he was in battle.

For some reason, he thought that whenever he fought in his Elven form, he would lose control of himself. Like this instinct within the elf would take control of his thoughts; and his body for that matter. But really, it's just him fighting as he always has, but better.

"As if we don't already." Kain says. He and Cecil are already cleaning their weapons and picking the dried blood off of their faces.

At that point, Roxas didn't mind waiting the full thirty minutes it takes Seymour and Kuja to return to the cave, behold the bloodied warriors and then smile and laugh and joke. Edge stayed behind in the village. So Seymour reports that he was able to restore some of the girl's life essence, but only to the point where she can be kept alive. She was returned to her family who will take her to a healer's hut for a checkup there. But Seymour assured that they merely needed to feed her and have her exercise.

Roxas doesn't bother wiping the dry blood from his face, at least until it starts to itch. He sits against the stone, watching as Seymour draws some of those Darkmarks in the blood.

No – not that he dipped his staff into the blood and started tracing them onto the stone, but he draws the marks _in_ the puddle of green blood. And the blood doesn't recede back or swallows the markings, they actually stay there as Seymour traces mark after mark in a perfect circle and just as he finishes connecting the last mark, the entire thing starts to glow a starlight blue.

Seymour looks into the portal and nods his head. He turns to the other warriors. "Hold your breath when you jump." Everyone nods and Roxas simply stares at them.

Kuja is the first to step forward and approach the portal. He doesn't question Seymour, simply crosses his arms and dives into the portal as straight as a pencil. There's no sound for a few seconds and then there's the sound of splashing water.

Roxas carefully rises to his feet. Cecil is next, mimicking Kuja's formation, and then Laguna, and then Kain. Seymour has to go last to close the portal. Vincent hops in, and then it's Maleek, but the captain stops and turns towards Roxas. He holds out his hand. "Do you want to go together?"

Instinctively, Roxas is prepping to bite back with harsh words, as he thinks it is Maleek way of insulting him for acting so cowardly, even after _saving_ him. But it's not a form of mockery, it's not a form of pity. Merely an invitation. For some reason, after witnessing Maleek falling off the cliff, watching him plummet towards the earth, it stirred something within Roxas that he hadn't felt for a long time, or hadn't allowed himself to feel: Fear.

He was scared of losing Maleek, just like he had lost everyone else that he had ever . . . very deeply cared about.

And right now, just being away from him for a few seconds sends worry through Roxas. So he nods and takes Maleek's hand. He vaguely returns the captain's smile and together they jumped into the churning blue portal. Hopefully Seymour is good at keeping secrets.

Roxas and Maleek grasp hands and they jump down into the portal. Roxas doesn't dare open his eyes in fear that if he does, they'll pop out of his head or something. Seymour didn't say when to hold their breath, so Roxas just held it at the very start. He doesn't dare try to inhale.

Just as he is reaching his limit, suddenly he is swallows up by water, the coldness grasping him with its icy fingers. Immediately he feels Maleek's hand, still grasping his, pull him to the upwards. Roxas briefly enjoys the momentary pain and relief that fills his hands as the cold water seeps into the cuts on his hands and face.

They break the surface in a bursting gleam of water, the sun turning them into little diamonds in the now darkening sky. The deep blue of the night has now been cast over the little river. Roxas gasps heavily for air, coughing a little as he swallows some of the river water. At least it's clean. He feels Maleek's hand drop his and Roxas immediately starts to scoop up the water and wash his face. He makes sure to try and get some water down his back where he knows that the blood of the harpies had permeated his uniform.

There's the sound of splashing all around him as Roxas plunges himself under the water again and lets it seep into every nook and crevice and cut he has in his armor and on his body. Surfacing once again, Roxas sighs and splashes his face once again. Then he trudges his way towards the shore, the water sloshing heavily.

The rest of the Thirteen members are dripping wet, not even bothering to dry off their clothes. They're mostly just cleaning off their weapons, and when Roxas looks to Oblivion and Oathkeeper, they could use some scrubbing, though the water has already loosened the dried blood on the blades, leaving patches that look like liver spots on an elder.

"Roxas." Maleek calls, and Roxas looks up to find the Elven captain waiting for him with the other warriors. The water is dripping from his blonde hair, gleaming like topazes. "Ready to head back?"

Looking back up to the cliff, Roxas can see small streams of the blood starting to drip over the cliff of the Caves of the Harpy Clan. The rest of them must've scattered to a different cave for the time being. So long another one doesn't come swooping down on them, Roxas is more than happy to leave. He nods and grabs his helmet and sets it on his head.

Still keeping in his Elven form, The Thirteen runs back towards the small town to retrieve Edge and to see the parents of the surviving girl. Roxas wasn't too happy to hear the father threaten to thrash the girl within an inch of her life, but he said it while in tears and still taking into consideration that she will be living with her guilt for the rest of her life. She will always be haunted by what she had witnessed in the Caves of the Harpies. While Seymour suggested they take her back to the Royal City, The Thirteen left after compromising that the parents might think about it once their daughter is back in health.

The run back to the Royal City wasn't bad, what with Roxas' mind being distracted enough by what the lead Harpy had said, while constantly keeping an eye on Maleek's hair as they sprinted.

 _It's your true scent that will always betray you_.

While only the elves of Valendia can follow his scent like dogs, something about it doesn't sit right with Roxas. Something about she knew he was hiding. He has been since being plucked from the Gollund Mines so that he wouldn't start rumors concerning The Thirteen. His mission is to become the leader and Sephiroth's Champion, and yet, what would happen if people _did_ find out Kingdom Heart's Assassin is now working for an Elven King and his coven? Roxas certainly doesn't care about _his_ own reputation anymore. And he doesn't see the problem if people find out, but then . . .

Remembering what Edge had said – that the coven (up until now) had always been consisted of purebred Elves – and then here are Maleek and Roxas as the mongrels of the group, but does that mean that everyone doesn't know Maleek is only a half-breed too? It's not like it'd be the end of the world if people knew . . . right?

Sooner than he would have liked, The Thirteen arrived back at the Valendia's Royal City. And this time, Roxas wasn't as winded as he was on the way there. Still, he barely said a word as they trekked through the castle, nodding at guards who bow their heads in respect. He flicked his focus between King Sephiroth and Queen Rydia, their beauty still as intimidating as they had been when he first met them. After Maleek had delivered the news, The Thirteen was dismissed with promise of an incredibly large salary to be delivered to each of their chambers. After they had left the throne room, Roxas nonchalantly laced his hand with Maleek's, the captain not saying anything but Roxas can sense his surprise.

They both managed to shift back after their meeting with the King and Queen, Roxas' face feeling sore and his skin feeling loose. Maleek manages to stay quiet all the way up until they reach Roxas' room. Roxas leads him inside, ignoring the guards and their lingering eyes up until the door closes.

Finally, Maleek pulls his hand away from Roxas' and says. "So, are you planning on seducing me or are we just going to skip straight to bed?" he says with a smirk.

Roxas swallows, his heart bobbing in his throat as he asks Maleek, "Do you want to stay for dinner?"

Maleek raises his eyebrows at Roxas, who simply fiddles curls and uncurls his fingers at his side. Originally, he had wanted to speak with Maleek alone and ask about The Thirteen and their reputation, but now . . . Now he just wants to eat with Maleek, together. He can still see Maleek falling off that cliff, plummeting towards the ground. The fear in his eyes . . .

But along with that, stronger than that, Roxas doesn't want to be far from Maleek, he doesn't want to stop being with Maleek . . . at least for today. Then there's still the concern of those markings under his bed. Roxas almost wants to ask him to stay the night. That doesn't mean they're bound for life . . . does it?

He shakes his head and turns away when he realizes Maleek still hasn't answered. "If you don't want to that's fine, I just wanted to ask since –"

He feels a strong hand on his shoulder and turn him. Maleek is smiling with that gentleness that has quickly become so familiar. "I would love to. Thank you." Roxas smiles. "Though I wish you would've given me the permission to clean and change out of my armor."

Roxas laughs as he smacks Maleek's arm as they both head up the steps. Quickly, Roxas asked his servants to head to Maleek's room and fetch him a night tunic and pants, and to try and keep it matching.

Sitting at the dining table, Roxas pushes his grilled asparagus around his plate. He stares at his bandaged hand, the white wrappings already turning slightly pink. Along with his inconsideration to have Maleek change into comfortable clothing, Roxas also forgot about the cuts and scrapes on his hands from the rope. His feet had taken an equal beating as there were grossly-sized blisters on his heels and toes.

He didn't say anything when Maleek escorted him to the bathroom, where it took up an hour and a half of their meal time for the two of them to bath and wash away the dry blood and bandage Roxas' hands and feet. His ribs had a purple and blue bruising line from when the rope went taut, and it was a little difficult to take a deep breath.

They sit in silence, the light drumming of rain hitting the window and balcony doors their only background music. Dressed in a beige tunic and pants that stop just above his knees, Roxas spins his fork in his hands to gather up a bundle of the delicious pasta bathed in a creamy sauce. Roxas is sitting at the head of their table, Maleek just off to his left. With just the two of them in Roxas' massive chamber, the large spread of food seems too big for them. But still, Roxas is appreciative. Anything is better than what he had been served in the mines.

Maleek has had a simple smile on his lips since they had showered and changed. Despite the joke he had made, he hasn't tried anything with Roxas, even though he was literally a door away from seeing and having Roxas naked.

As Roxas lifts another spoonful of pasta into his mouth, the amethyst of the ring Maleek had given him glints in the light. He moves his finger so that the gem glitters even more. There's the tinking of Maleek's silverware as he jabs his fork into a seasoned steak that smells _incredible_ , and is cooked so that the inside is freshly pink.

"So, if I can ask," Roxas finally speaks, after washing down the asparagus with some sweet lemonade. "Why is it again, that I have to keep my identity a secret?"

Maleek holds up his finger as he finishes chewing on the steak. Once he swallows he says, "Remember, no one knew you were just a nineteen-year-old boy while you were an assassin, and the king's advisor doesn't want out enemies belittling us if they were to find out we were scared of a boy."

"They'd certainly change their tune if I had set foot in their continent, or if they saw me in action." Roxas snarls.

"That they would, but since you cannot – and will not – go off to Kerwon or the Deist Isles, or Romanda or Ordallia, your identity is still secret. We've been through this, so why do you ask?"

Roxas fidgets with his fork, flipping it between his fingers. "It's just, I thought you didn't want anyone to know I was in The Thirteen because I was an assassin or wasn't a purebred."

Maleek looks to Roxas with confusion and concern. "Why would you think that? You know a couple of them are 'former' assassins, even thieves. And you know that _I'm_ not a complete purebred."

"So why must I keep the name of Tobias Cordano?!" Roxas suddenly snaps, dropping his silverware and having it clink loudly against his plate. He also slams his palms against the table. "If it is okay that I'm not a purebred and that the Thirteen are former assassins, then why is it crucial that I keep _my_ secret?!"

Maleek is silent, and he sighs as he lowers his fork and knife. "It's complicated."

"The hell it is." Roxas sneers. "This is all about the Thirteen and their reputation."

"It is not, Roxas!" Maleek growls. "Even if no one knows who you are, they know _of_ you. You were well-known. Popular. Feared. And if people find out that we have you as a member of our coven, your mother will be over here in a matter of weeks."

At the mention of his mother, Roxas' blood runs cold.

Maleek continues. "If you want the truth, here it is: we wanted to keep your identity a secret because of your mother. As far as she's concerned, you're still locked up in the mines, frail and starving and nearly dead. You're out of her hair and therefore, no longer a problem to her plans. As long as she thinks that, she won't go looking for you and slaughtering every village in her way to get to you. We're doing this to keep _you_ safe!"

At the sound of crackling, Roxas turns his head slightly towards the windows behind Maleek and he can see them starting to frost over. The gilt details twine and curl like vines as they slowly crack and crawl up the glass.

"Even if you argue that we have no reason to protect you, you're wrong."

The assassin just stares at Maleek, his eyes gleaming, and the captain sighs. In that breath, the ice quickly drops down on the glass, melting away, but slowly staring to crawl back up.

"You are so much more special than you know, Roxas." When Maleek, says his name, he says it with a tone that is filled with a longing that Roxas knows all too well. His words do give away the fact that there is more than what he is telling Roxas, but hey, a partial truth is enough for him. At least for tonight.

And to know that they're doing it to keep _him_ safe . . . A deadly assassin who has ruined countless lives and ended so many more, such . . . kindness is unheard of for him.

"What caused this sudden question anyway?" Maleek asks.

"I had an argument with Prince Kiros." Roxas immediately answers. His voice is low and his gaze has shifted to his food, shoulders slouched. "It was revealed to him that I have an alias in the castle, and we haven't spoken since."

"When was this?"

Roxas closes his eyes and folds in his lips. "About a week and a half ago."

"I see."

Silence.

Then the high-pitched squeal of Maleek's chair nearly makes Roxas jolt in his own. "I think that's enough for tonight. I'll retire to my chambers."

It a moment for his words to sink in even though his voice reverberates through Roxas' bones.

Maleek is already down the steps when Roxas springs from his seat, his voice embarrassingly squeaky when he yelps, "Wait!"

When he makes it to the top, he finds Maleek thankfully waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his hand on the spherical ball of the banister. As Roxas descends, his eyes can't seem to break away from the collar of Maleek's tunic. A deep blue that matches his eyes and the collar is low enough to expose his distinct collarbone and the top of his chest.

Roxas stops on the second step from the bottom. "Will you stay?" Roxas pathetically asks. He fiddles with the end of his sleeves, pulling them over his hands so that he can fiddle with the ring on his finger.

"Why?" Maleek says.

The word slaps Roxas in the face, in a way that makes him ask it himself. Why does he want Maleek to stay? Why does it pain him to be apart from this man for more than a few hours? Why is it that in his heart, where Axel used to dominate, Maleek is now slowly taking over? He certainly has been respectful of Roxas and his wishes, knowing what he still has with Axel but –

Is there anything left with Axel?

And then Roxas realizes it. It pains him, but not as much as he thought it would, which is both scary and relieving.

Things aren't the same.

Things _haven't_ been the same since Axel had beheld Roxas in his Elven form that faithful night they sprang through the portal. Axel's feelings were the same as Roxas' when he first learned about his heritage.

He had accepted it, but he didn't _embrace_ it. He didn't embrace Roxas as an Elf. And that's what hurt. That's what changed.

It also coagulates with Roxas' fear of losing those he loves. He had lost Axel that night, and he never truly got him back. Even when they shared a kiss with Roxas in his Elven form, even when Roxas wanted to believe that things would go back to the way they were, they never have. And he believes they never will.

He didn't realize how deeply his fear of losing someone had gone until he watched Maleek fall over that ledge. He has lost so many . . . admittedly beautiful people in his life, that the thought of losing another, triggered something within Roxas. Something spiked within him; like a harsh bang of a drum and suddenly all of his instincts, his nerves, his senses, everything was kicked into overdrive. He was ready to risk anything and everything to save Maleek, even give up his own life in the process.

Valiant as that may be, it would be foolish.

But his desperation to preserve whatever light he can in his life is so strong, it gives him a false sense of consent and acceptance.

The assassin's eyes sting and he reaches out his hand to Maleek's. Maleek lets him take it, but Roxas' hand quickly brushes past the captain's hand to trace up Maleek's arm until he steps down the remaining stairs and into Maleek's arms. They warp around him and their warmth seeps into Roxas' body, making him relax and letting the exhaustion finally seep in as well. He feels Maleek's chin rest on his head.

"I want you to." Roxas whimpers. "I need you to."

Maleek takes a breath that makes his broad chest expand. Roxas nestles into it, taking in Maleek's sweet scent of pine and cinnamon.

Axel didn't understand . . . no matter how many books he read, he still didn't _understand_. The burden, the pain, and the dangers that come with the powers the Elves have. And even with Reno submerging himself in years and years of studies, Roxas just knew that Reno had only mastered a fraction of the secrets, and powers and abilities that Elves have.

Roxas was always afraid that he wouldn't find anyone who could match his fear and his isolation.

But Maleek did. Maleek always had.

Roxas remembers. Back when they were in the castle of Traverse Town, Maleek had left Roxas' rooms after they had spent the afternoon playing billiards and talking and, kissing. Roxas had followed after Maleek for some reasons he couldn't explain, and his heart had stopped when Maleek had walked into Axel's room. He had a dagger ready to slice Maleek's throat if dared to touch Axel. But he was completely thrown off guard when Maleek started an argument with Axel . . . about _him_.

Roxas still remembers the words as he listened right outside the door to Axel's chambers: " _What did you do to make him walk around with such emptiness in his eyes?"_

 _"Why do you care? It's our business and you're not his lover. "_

 _"Well you're not exactly doing a better job,_ Axel."

" _Oh and I suppose you know everything there is about him?!" Axel challenged._

 _"No I don't. Not as well as you. And yet here you are hunched over books when your Lover is in there broken and tattered!"_

 _"There is nothing left, Axel. There is nothing left of him; I can see it in his eyes. He has no hope, Axel, why can't you see that! He has no hope. He has none left in his heart. I see him slipping away, bit by bit because you shove him down when he so desperately needs someone to pick him up_!"

Maleek saw how broken and lost Roxas was – and still is. And he can still see it. And while Axel's intentions were good, he executed it in the wrong way. But Roxas isn't making excuses for him, nor does he deserve it.

Maybe . . . maybe he was wrong. Maybe Axel wasn't supposed to understand . . . because it wasn't meant to be.

And yet, Roxas had given Axel everything he had, and he can't take that back, but he doesn't want to. The feeling of Axel's hands on his bare skin, the feeling of Axel's lips on his neck . . . those feelings in general won't ever fade, but already they feel, foreign.

When was the last time he was ever touched? By a friend or lover. Roxas didn't think he had missed it this much.

"Roxas . . ." Maleek's voice is rough, but soft.

It makes the assassin cringe, because it means that they're embrace is going to end soon. Roxas lifts his head out from Maleek's chest and looks up into the captain's face.

The feelings won't ever fade, but maybe, they can be renewed.

"Kiss me." Roxas says before he can second guess himself. This takes Maleek by surprise, as his eyes widen and eyebrows rise high. His arms loosen and he takes the slightest half-step back. But Roxas holds him tight and repeats: "Kiss me, Maleek."

The blue of Maleek's eyes seem to lighten with happiness and lust. He grasps both sides of Roxas' face and leans in.

Honestly, Roxas doesn't know why he waited so long. Maleek's mouth is warm and soft, his body wondrously solid against Roxas', his hair silken as Roxas threads his fingers through it. Maleek dips his head down, nudging Roxas' head to the side before he felt Maleek lips press into the skin on his neck. He releases one arm from the assassin so he could hold the back of Roxas' head. He lets Maleek guide him, forcing himself to remember how to breathe as Maleek eases Roxas' lips apart with his own.

When Roxas feels the brush of his tongue against his own, he is so full of lightning Roxas thinks he might die from the rush of it. He wants more. He wants all of Maleek.

He can't hold Maleek tight enough, kiss him fast enough. A growl rumbles in the back of Maleek's throat, so full of need that Roxas feels it in his core. Lower than that, actually.

A large palm was placed on Roxas' lower back, forcing him into Maleek's body. The fullness of Maleek's lips press into a spot just below Roxas' ear. Roxas' eyes flutter closed and he grips Maleek's neck tighter. Roxas releases a gasp as Maleek forces the blonde's hips to his. A deep chuckle vibrated in his chest, clearly enjoying the reaction he was drawing from Roxas.

Maleek spins and pushes Roxas against the wall, and his hands roam all over Roxas' sides, his back, his hips. Roxas wants to bask in the feeling – wants to rip off his tunic so he can feel Maleek's callused hands against his bare skin. The intensity of the desire sweeps him away.

Suddenly he feels Maleek pick him up and press him deeper into the wall, forcing himself between Roxas' thighs. Roxas gasps as Maleek continues to trace his lips down every inch of exposed skin Roxas has exposed. His legs grip around the captain's hips, earning another growl. Roxas lets out a groan as he feels Maleek's slip one hand under his shirt and spider-crawl its way to his chest. Roxas grips Maleek's hair with one hand while the other gripped his shoulder.

"Maleek." Roxas whimpers. He moans as Maleek's body skillfully grinds against him. _Oh gods_. _Gods above_.

They pull apart enough to look at one another in the eyes, their blues correlating with each other, turquoise and sapphire. Like swimming in an endless ocean of blue.

With Roxas' thighs still clinging to his hips, Maleek kisses Roxas again, his hands cupping just below Roxas' tender bum and he carries the assassin from the bottom of the stairs, up to the top and over to the bed, never faltering a step. He then gently sets Roxas down atop the soft mattress.

He withdraws only long enough to remove his tunic, revealing his muscled torso and perfectly formed abs. Roxas takes in Maleek's golden skin and muscled chest, the slender scars that pepper his torso, his heart beating so fast he can hardly breathe.

He can be his. This beautiful, powerful creature can be his.

Maleek's lips are on him again and they both slowly ease themselves down so that Roxas is fully on his back, Maleek propped up on his forearms to hover over the assassin. When he starts to kiss Roxas' neck, Roxas archs his back and groans with pleasure in response when Maleek grinds his hips against Roxas' still spread legs. When Roxas' breathing becomes fast, Maleek pulls back and looks down at the assassin. His hand caresses Roxas' cheek. "Roxas," his soft, full lips whisper. "I don't want to take his place, I know I can't. But I'll be right here; to hold you when the sky falls down; and to never leave you all alone."

Maleek intertwines their hands and lifts them to kiss the back of Roxas'.

Roxas' eyes water, but he smiles as they escape. "Please. Please show me how to live again. And heal my brokenness within."

Maleek's eyes seem to glow in the limited lighting of the candles around Roxas' bed. When he looks at Roxas, the assassin can feel everything just melt away. "I will show you the way back home, if you will let me love you when you come undone." His lips whisper against Roxas skin.

Roxas has heard promises before. He's heard them from Axel, and those were easily fractured. He had believed them, and he still doesn't doubt that they were true, they were just never fulfilled.

But with Maleek, he knows everything. He knows of Roxas' past, he knows of how he is, how he works. He knows of Roxas' heritage, and he can even _relate_ to it.

Roxas lean up, caressing Maleek's face and kisses him deeply. Maleek's tongue is there once again, and Roxas' body tingles with excitement and lust. But alas, Maleek parts their lips and looks down at Roxas' body.

Thank the _gods_ Roxas has gained back enough weight and muscle to not be so skeletal anymore. Now he's been deemed a normal healthy, but he is still striving to be as fit as he had been before.

There is a question in Maleek's eyes – a question written over every inch of his body. Roxas shyly smiles, as they both knew the answer. Tonight just wasn't the night. But it will be coming soon. So Roxas merely leans up and kisses Maleek again and giggles.

"So, you'll stay with me?" Roxas says with an innocent smile.

Maleek kisses him back, his own smile pushing through as he parts Roxas' mouth again. "I will stay until the morning comes. Longer if you desire it." He kisses Roxas' forehead.

Oh, Roxas desires everything from Maleek right now. But they both knew tonight just wasn't going to be it, and so Maleek merely flops to the side next to Roxas and kissing his collarbone. Maleek brushes a large hand down Roxas hair, and he almost purrs.

Roxas smiles into the pillow and leans into Maleek's touch some more, even going so far to put a hand on his broad chest, savoring the steady, assured heartbeat pounding beneath.

"Thank you, Maleek." Roxas murmurs, his own words slurring as he yawns.

With his hand intertwined to Maleek's, clasped to his chest, the assassin feels something molten rush through him, pouring over every crack and fracture still left gaping and open. Not to hurt or to mar – but to weld. To forge.

And slowly, he can feel himself being pieced back together.


	45. Chapter 18 (Part Two)

The sun rises over the marble castle, sending the entire foundation glittering and filling every chamber and hallway with its golden light.

It floods into Roxas' chambers, the windows and balcony doors the primary source. It catches in Maleek's hair and makes it shine like polished bronze. His back muscles expand and contract as he breathes.

Propped up on one elbow, Roxas watches him sleep. A smile that won't go away makes his cheeks ache.

Maleek's bare torso is magnificently tanned from the summer sun despite being covered by his layers of armor and tunics. Perhaps he got it while sparring in the courtyards, or swimming in the castle's luxurious outdoor pool. Scars of varying lengths are scattered across his back and shoulders – some of them slender and even, some of them thick and jagged. The harpy had once said that there was story behind scars. And Maleek's speak of a life spent training and battling . . . His body is a map of his adventures, or proof of what growing up as an elven warrior assassin was like. The blackness of the ink of the tattoo that dominates his shoulders and biceps curls and curves with such grace. Even his black earrings make him more attractive, the way they contrast with his blonde hair.

Roxas extends out his hand to trace directly down Maleek's spine, down to the very dimples at the bottom. His finger bumps across some of the scars and he can't help but feel the phantom pain of his own scars along his back. Whoever – whatever – gave Maleek these scars, they'd be sorry. Maleek's shoulders shrug slightly and he turns to his other side so he is facing Roxas. The assassin bites back a giggle.

He doesn't want to see another scar added to this body, to this flesh. He'd slay the perpetrator before they even drew their sword. And then he thinks, what would happen once Roxas' four year time span is up, and he's free to go?

The thought hits like a punch in the stomach. Even if it's a long way off, it could go faster than either of them realize. Would things still be, strong enough to work out? Would Maleek give up his title as Captain of the Royal Guard to be with Roxas? Would King Sephiroth even let him go? Yes – the king would. But would Maleek take it?

And that brings up another painful memory and reminder: Can he finally be free? Can _they_ finally be free, and . . . together?

The amethyst ring glints in the light. Still Roxas can see the tan line of where Axel's gold ring had once been. Back then, looking at that ring, even with the limited candle light of the mines, it was part of the motivation that had kept Roxas working and living.

" _If you go, then so will I. We will live our lives, I suppose. Live the way we –_ you _– want to, for once. Learn how to be normal people. We'd travel until we find a place where they've never even heard of Twilight Town. If just a place exists_."

" _What is something happens_? _To me, to you_?" Roxas remembers.

" _Then this world isn't worth living if you're not mine_. _I would be the greatest fool in the world to let you go alone_."

Axel's words echo in Roxas head, enough that he gets a sudden pressure pain in his temple.

"You lied." Roxas suddenly found himself croaking. He stiffens as Maleek stirs, but quickly settles, sighing through his nose.

It's not really that Axel lied . . . he just, didn't fulfill his words. But at the same time, Roxas can't blame him for it. Roxas was locked up in the mines, and he knew that Axel was trying everything he could to get him out. Is he still; because technically, he's still in the mines and –

His heart nearly stops.

He forgot the pedestrians at the bar! Gods _damn it_! Damn it! Damn it! _Damn it_! His heart starts to pound fast. But he quickly reasons with himself before panic makes him jolt Maleek awake. Clearly, Maleek and the other didn't think it was a big deal if they are so calm, or perhaps they've already paid them off because they _knew_ Roxas had forgotten. Yes – and even if rumors have started, they're just rumors, and since no one knew who he was, they won't figure it out. And when others claim that he was last sent to a lifetime in Gollund Mines, they will die down. He will be fine.

Everything will be fine.

Roxas closes his eyes and sighs, rubbing his temple until the pain ebbs away. He looks to Maleek again, and this time Roxas brushes the hair from the captain's eyes.

Anyway, now that it's rather official that Roxas has . . . not given up, but, maybe settled things with Axel, maybe he can actually start to think about the future. The day that they will finally lay down their daggers and swords and arrows. The day he can flee and live a life without worry of being hunted.

Live free . . . with Maleek.

As Roxas parts Maleek's bangs, the captain's eyes flutter open, and when he finds Roxas watching him, he gives the assassin a sleepy smile. Without thinking, Roxas follows the sudden skip in his heartbeat and leans in, pressing his lips to Maleek's forehead.

Maleek pulls him down, wrapping an arm around Roxas' bare hip – his nightshirt got rolled up – and brushes his nose against Roxas' hair, and he breathes Roxas in deeply.

"I'm hoping this means we're not going for a run." Roxas says softly, a devious little feline grin on his lips.

Maleek purrs a response into Roxas' hair, signaling that he is only half-awake, and thinking about anything but a three mile run in the morning chill. Roxas giggles again and tilts his head to kiss Maleek's chin. This draws enough of a response that Maleek angles his head down to kiss back before pressing his lips into Roxas' forehead and sighing again.

"Also, I was hoping we could go into town soon. I want some new weapons, and a cloak for the oncoming weather." Roxas says. Really, he could just be quiet, but something about annoying Maleek while half-asleep is oddly amusing . . . and, cute.

Maleek mumbles a response into Roxas' hair; something that sounds like: _Whatever you want, just shut up and go back to sleep_.

Roxas snorts and kisses Maleek's collarbone before snuggling down into his chest. In his heart, he can feel a perky little fire inside, making the darkened ink of his tattoo glow like a little ember.

Later that afternoon, Roxas walks the halls of the castle, down a familiar hallway. His heart pounding heavily with every step. He fiddles with the loose string of the sleeve of his pine-green tunic. His brown pants and boots click against the tiles. Behind him, his darker green cloak whispers against the floor.

Once they had gotten up and ate breakfast together, Maleek finally left to go on a mission with Edge and Vincent. He said he would be back before supper. Roxas didn't mind, though he was a little jealous that it was in town – Roxas wanting to explore more of Valendia himself – but nevertheless, he had his own things to settle while they were away. He could go blow his money after this if things didn't go as he planned.

As Roxas turns a corner, his heart skips a beat when he sees Kiros' guards standing outside the prince's double blue, marble doors. The guards immediately turn their heads the moment Roxas takes a step out from around the corner. Roxas doesn't dare lift his hand to Oathkeeper strapped firmly to his waist.

They watch him intensely, never looking away as the assassin approaches the doors. Roxas gives a ghost of a smile, more of a nervous twitch of his mouth, and the guard's face remains neutral. Well, that's not a pleasant start.

Trying his best not to shake as he stands in between the guards, Roxas extends out a hand and knocks on the door.

There's a moment of silence that stretches on forever. Just as Roxas is thinking that he knocked too softly, or that the prince is probably still sleeping, the tumbler of the lock clicks and the door opens. For a heartbeat, Roxas is wondered and worried as to why the prince's door is locked, but he shoves the thought away as the door reveals the prince.

He is magnificently stunning in a brown, leather vest and a beige long-sleeved tunic beneath. His pants are of a cream color and his feet are bare. Oddly, Roxas finds his exposed feet rather intimate. Roxas clears his throat as the prince gazes at him. No surprise, no anger, as placid and controlled that would make any assassin proud.

They haven't spoken since Roxas had found him reading a rather impressive level book in the common language. But he can't think about Kiros' cruel words. He has to stay focused.

"There's no point in avoiding the inevitable." Roxas starts, not even bothering to speak in Galtea anymore. Not after the way Kiros had spoken nearly perfectly in the common tongue. Roxas' voice soft and calm like his father had taught him when speaking with his kills. But he's not doing it for intimidation, just to keep his voice from shaking. "We both have to talk about what happened."

"It depends on whom I am speaking with." Kiros says, lifting his chin. His accent is as thick as it had been when they first met, and Roxas resists the urge to narrow his eyebrows. At least he wasn't being stubborn and speaking in Galtea; hopefully his guards don't speak the common tongue at all. Still, Kiros' words hit their mark. " _Tobias Cordano_ , or Roxas Skyes." The prince speaks Roxas' real name quietly, smart enough to realize that it was supposed to a secret.

Roxas sighs through his nose and briefly closes his eyes. He shifts at the mistrust in the prince's eyes. "Look, _Your Majesty_ ," he says, fighting back a smirk as he sees the prince's lips twitch. "I understand you're upset, and you have every right to be. And while I know it isn't my place to ask, could we please speak in private?"

The prince stares at Roxas for a moment, and Roxas is preparing himself for the prince to slam the door in his face. But Kiros' eyes soften as he blinks and steps to the side. He motions Roxas to enter his rooms.

Relief floods Roxas as he sighs and allows a smile on his lips.

When he steps inside, it's like Roxas has suddenly stepped into Galtea itself, as Kiros' chambers are literally a slice of his homeland.

The air is immediately thicker with a moistened warmth, and the smell of lotus flowers and tulips infects Roxas' nose. He even finds himself sighing from the humidity. With winter coming soon, the palace is starting to become a giant ice cube.

The castle still surprises him as he enters a room of dark wood and beige walls, and sees, or more rather hears a fair-sized waterfall occupying an entire wall of the chamber. The beauty is constructed of all natural stones that Roxas suspects could've been imported from Galtea itself. Water flows from out of the wall, down the gleaming stones and into a large circular pond filled with coy fish. Lily pads float on the surface, blooming with flowers and the height of the stones nearly reaches the rotunda that breaks into the dome. It's surrounded with greenery and vines that crawl across the brown basin and across the rocks.

A dome ceiling with glass skylights lights up the room, and flying buttresses are sculpted into the shape of voluptuous women with bows and arrows pulled back ready to fire. Through the glass, Roxas can see a couple spires of other towers of the castle.

Following Kiros further in, the entire room was decorated with plants from Galtea: palm trees, bushes, shrubs – all bearing colorful flowers. The room stretches back and after passing under an archway, it leads to a living room where the white plush couches are sheltered under a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, but not one petal is on the floor. Then it is giant windows and glass doors that lead to a balcony. The doors are currently propped open, leaving the room with the perfect mixture of warm and cold. All while, the tile of the floor is done in an incredibly detailed and extravagant design of lotus flowers.

Then there's a curved staircase that leads to the floor above. But they don't do exploring, instead, Roxas follows Kiros into the room and takes a seat with him on the couch. In front of them is a glass coffee table encased with more polished wood, the legs designed into the paws of a lion. A silver tray is set with Galtean sweets and foods and a tea set made from Galtea porcelain.

Roxas was honestly amazed. He even wondered if the prince comes here on a yearly basis if King Sephiroth had gone to such extent to make the room so perfectly designed for the prince. Either that or he really knows how to treat his houseguests.

Kiros, to Roxas' surprise, pours Roxas a cup and places two tablespoons of honey and a large spoonful of sugar into the cup before stirring and handing it to Roxas. Roxas gives a grateful nod as Kiros makes himself a cup and sits with the assassin. Taking a sip, Roxas nearly moans with pleasure as the warmth of the water touches the front and back of his throat; the sweetness of the honey and sugar makes it taste exquisite.

Lowering the cup to his saucer, Roxas sighs. "Thank you." Kiros nods. Roxas then sets the cup and saucer back onto the table and fidgets with his fingers. "I'm obviously not who I am, in this castle." Roxas says, unable to meet his friend's eyes. "I am Roxas Skyes, but Tobias Cordano is my alias, because no one in this castle is supposed to know who I am."

"Why?" Kiros asks softly.

"Because of my mother, Tifa Lockhart." Roxas says, looking up into Kiros' eyes. The prince's mouth parts and his eyes widen. "If she finds out that I am here, and not still in Gollund Mines, she will tear each and every village apart trying to find me."

"You went . . . you went to _Gollund Mines_. Gollund is a death camp." Kiros' forehead wrinkles into sorrow.

Roxas' lip trembles and he folds them in as his eyes water. Following his sudden fast-beating heart, Roxas turns away from the prince and lifts his blue tunic revealing the four claw mark scars that dominate down his back. He hears Kiros gasp. Roxas releases a choked sob when he feels Kiros' cool fingertips touch his back. He stiffens, but slowly relaxes as his skin devours Kiros' cool touch.

"Gods _above_ . . ." he hears the prince breathe with a saddened but angered exhale. "You were a slave." says the prince.

Roxas releases his shirt and turns to face the prince, shifting when he sees the man's brown eyes gleaming. Still, Roxas forces himself to nod.

"But the king knows of who you are, and what you've done. Why would the pull you from the mines?" the prince asks.

Roxas shoulders sag. "They gave me the proposition that if I were to become the leader of The Thirteen, and become the King's Champion, then after four years of service to him, I will be free. I could be a normal boy."

"But you're _not_ a normal boy, Roxas Skyes." Kiros says.

Roxas looks to the prince with wide eyes. Even with the fact that Kiros had lied, even when he thinks back to how Kiros had spoken the common language perfectly, Roxas is already in this deep – what's so bad if Kiros knows?

Taking a deep breath Roxas sighs, "No."

And in an instant, his face ripples with a hard pinch – the pain of his shifting growing less and less searing – and his ears stretch and his canines stretch into fangs. When he opens his eyes, the prince is even more handsome than in his mortal vision, his forehead shining and his lips parted with surprise, but in an astonished way, rather than fear.

Kiros slowly nods. "You still haven't explained why they pulled you from the mines. They could've just plucked every other assassin or thief or mercenary. Whether they be elven or not."

"I had the same thought; but I'm afraid I do not know." Roxas shakes his head. "I was so bent on my freedom that I didn't care to find out, and I still don't."

The prince's shoulders sag, damming Roxas with a stare that asks why he hadn't bothered to find out. For some reason, it makes Roxas angry.

"Look, even if I don't have all of the details, it doesn't matter to me, okay?!" he shouts. "It was either this or I go back to the mines! I've already lost so many people with this life, that any chance I have to rid myself of it, I _will_!"

Roxas' eyes start to water and his throat bobs as a sob fights for escape. He turns away from the prince as the tears fall.

"I don't want to kill anymore, Kiros." Roxas whimpers, slowly shaking his head. "I don't." Roxas wipes the tears away with the heel of his palm. "There comes a time in a man's life, when he reaches a breaking point. A breaking point at which this curse that I have, this burden that I bear, where I have this inescapable ability to kill the lives of others, and spill the blood onto the stones. I . . ."

Roxas' breathing is quick and suddenly he is seeing flashbacks of the horrid scenes. The door inside his head jerks open, and the images that Roxas had fought to make himself forget flood forth. He closes his eyes, wishing for the darkness of the hollow silence within to swallow the pain as it had before, but the images are only clearer against the black backdrop. _Everything_ is there.

There is Ventus, kneeled before Roxas with his hands tied behind his back. His golden hair is gleaming in the light of the fireplace and when he lifts his head to face Roxas, blood is pooling from his lips, and leaks from his blackened eyes like tears. He chokes and gurgles grossly and Roxas looks down to his hand and finds blood.

The assassin curls into a ball, tucking his head to his chest. His forehead rests on his knees, his chin touching his collarbone. He can still smell the blood on his clothes, and the more he breathes the more he feels the smell infecting him, choking him like gas.

Roxas is gasping for breath now, wheezing heavily and his hands are shaking violently as he begins to make wordless whimpers for it all to stop. He starts to rock himself back and forth, wondering where it is Kiros had gone. Curled into himself, forming his own little cocoon, the assassin rocks back and forth, wheezing and whimpering that soon turns into sob after sob.

Demyx is lying in the thick puddle of his own blood, his eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head as Roxas yanks his blade out from his stomach. Vanitas is beating Roxas senseless and chaining him to the walls of the carriage. Roxas is back in his mine shaft, watching form behind the corner as the three overseers' rape and kill that Galtean woman by slicing her throat ear to ear. The crack of an iron-tipped whip cleaving through his back.

Then, a hand. It grips Roxas' shoulder and he instantly thrashes, screaming, but the prince holds his shoulders firm. It brings him back. Cool fingertips brush Roxas' cheek and his leans into it, not caring that his tear is absorbed into Kiros' flawless skin.

"Roxas," the prince hushes.

The assassin opens his eyes, but stares at the floor, watching as the blood from Ventus slowly ebbs away back into the warm beige colored tiles. His breathing calms, but his heart still goes fast like a jackrabbit. He slows his rocking, but is still crying hysterically. His nose sniffles grossly and his cheek are raw.

"I can't take it anymore. I want this curse to be lifted." Roxas whimpers, or more rather cries. The sobs make his words less than understandable.

Kiros takes Roxas' hand, is palm warm and dry. The prince squeezes it. "Roxas, you are my dearest friend. And I am so sorry for everything; for what I had said, for what had happened to you. And it hurt me to see things grow so cold between us. I don't ever wish to have that happen again; to see you look at me with such distrust in your eyes." Kiros' dark eyes shine. Roxas looks up as he feels the prince flip his hand over. Roxas sniffles, but smiles slightly as Kiros' finger tickles his palm as he traces a familiar Darkmark on his palm. "You have endured so much, and yet you shine brighter than before. You might think your light is fading, ebbing, tainted. But looking at you, I can see so much potential."

Roxas sniffles and sighs. He closes his eyes when Kiros kisses the back of Roxas' hand and sets his own on top. "I wish to give you something that I have rarely given to others; to honor your spirit, and you light." He looks to Roxas and begins to trace the same mark on Roxas' forehead. "I name you Luminos. It was the name of Valendia's old god."

After Kiros seals the name with a kiss on the assassin's brow, as Roxas allows the name to wrap around him like a warm blanket, Roxas looks to the prince, perplexed. "Valendia had an old god?"

Kiros cocks his head but smiles. "I assumed you knew. They're old god was a phoenix, a bird of fire. Associated with the sun, the bird obtains new life by arising from the ashes. And I think it describes you perfectly, Roxas."

Kiros places a hand on the assassin's shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"We are friends, Roxas. And if you ever need me, I will be there. Don't ever be afraid to voice your troubles. Besides, your eyes will always betray you." Kiros chuckles.

This is friendship. He never thought he would see it again. He had a form of connection with the prince that he can't quite explain; he just felt, safe around him.

They were of similar personalities and beliefs. It's something deeper that Roxas can't, and frankly doesn't want to. It feels right.

Roxas sniffs, and places his over the prince's. "Thank you, Kiros. No one has called me friend in a long time. Everyone I loved, they have either –" his throat tightens. "– they have either died, or left me . . ." the sound of the chains and the darkness of the shadow makes Roxas' spine tingle. "There are parts of me that I . . ." He then hears it, sounds that haunt his dreams. The sounds of cries laced with agony fill his ears, the pounding of his feet against the dirt, the disgusting gurgle of blood. Roxas quickly sobs once again. "Thank you, Kiros. You are a true friend."

His heart raw and lip trembling, Roxas doesn't move as Kiros takes a tissue and wipes away Roxas' tears. "Come," Kiros says brightly. "I want to hear all about you became Kingdom Heart's Assassin, how you discovered your abilities of the immortals, and what the deal is with the king about being leader."

Roxas chuckles. He has done more than show Kiros just how much of a mess he is. Such pathetic sobbing and then there's the memories that scare him – what was it called? Traumatic stress? Roxas had opened up and let Kiros see him straight to his very core. But that still doesn't mean that Kiros needs to know everything. And there are some things he wouldn't dare give voice to again.

So as Kiros called to his servants to bring another platter of food, Roxas snuggled himself deeper into the soft couch and took up his cup of not cold tea.

As he gazed at the prince, the warmth that wasn't from the tea spreads further through his body. And it's not the fact that Kiros had listened that made Roxas happy, to the point of near tears.

No – it wasn't that, it was because at that very moment, Roxas had seen Ventus in Kiros. He hadn't realized how alike the two were until now. Oh, Ventus. Getting him back in any way whatsoever was more than a happy ending for Roxas.

The two of them spoke for four hours, Roxas nearly telling Kiros everything, not sugarcoating any details. But of course, he remained mindful of . . . certain things. He told him about Ventus, about Demyx, about Axel, about Vanitas, even about Maleek. More tears were shed, of which Kiros helped wipe away and his only reactions were raised eyebrows, widened eyes and a parted mouth. He offered to do a proper burial ceremony for Roxas' friends, but the assassin denied.

Once the time came for Kiros to change for an audience with the king, the two men hugged for a long while, and after Kiros cupped Roxas' cheeks and simply stared at Roxas again, he smiled and patted the assassin's shoulders. He gave the guards a nod as he left and he had a smile on his face.

He felt so much lighter. It felt as if he hadn't spoken in a _long_ while; hadn't given voice to his despair and his pain and agony. His shoulders feel gradually straighter, relieved.

As he passes down the hall, he nods and smiles to a gaggle of servants who return his gesture. He is in such a pleasant mood that he found himself humming as he walked. But then he turns a corner, and guards fill the halls, and he sees her.

The Queen of Valendia.

His heart gives a halt and he clears his throat. His feet immediately stop and he steps to the side, remembering to bow low. He caught a glimpse of her strange attire – or rather, strange for _her_. He expected her to be in some luscious gown with layered skirts and bejeweled bodice, but instead, she's wearing a simple pale pink tunic with a brown leather belt cinching around her waist. The tunic falls to her waist and she has light grey pants and black leather boots. She did have however a few simple bangles, one bracelet having a gorgeous blue opal at the center.

He listens as her carpeted footsteps come closer to him. Then they stop right in front of him. The hairs on his arm rise. "Roxas." says the queen with a delighted tone. The assassin roses, his turquoise eyes meeting those of the Queen. Her eyes are the same as the king's, but a deeper shade of ocean blue, her ring of gold around her pupil nearly devoured by the blue.

She smiles and Roxas returns the gesture. He almost stupidly bows again. "Your Majesty."

"How are you finding your stay? It has been, what – nearing a month since your arrival?" she smiles. Roxas' eyes flick from her to the guards standing behind her. They give her a decent amount of space, and truthfully she has little few than what he expected; even if she is just roaming around her own castle.

Looking back at her, the queen's eyebrows rise. Roxas clears his throat. "Uh, I'm finding it well, Your Majesty, thank you." He says with a nod of his head.

"I'm glad. You are looking wonderful." Queen Rydia's shoulders squeeze together as she giggles and smiles.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

During their first meeting, she was stunning, intimidating and a forced to be reckoned with. She possessed an aura of hierarchy that made you respect who she was, and her Elven features making her cast fear into those who dare belittle her. But now . . .

Now there's a light in her eyes that feels warm and friendly and kind, like the way the moon looks on a starry night. She almost has a sense of innocence and purity. She's still seems connected to her inner child and it just radiates through her personality. There's not a speck of evil or nastiness in her. Something fresh sways around her. It is an air as clean and fresh as a morning of dewdrops on flowers in springtime.

"I sure hope that The Thirteen are treating you well. I know Vincent and Kain can be a little ruffle around the edges." says the queen. Roxas chuckles as he feels calm enough to relax his hands in his pockets.

As he peers at the queen, her vine-green hair pulled back by a magenta ribbon, he notices a splotch of white on her cheek, and then two more on both sides of her hips. Roxas folds his lips in to keep from chuckling. "Were you, um, cooking something Your Majesty?" Roxas says as he gives an inconspicuous point at his own cheek.

The queen's dainty whit hand lifts, her red nails touching her cheek. Her face gives off surprise as she quickly wipes away the flour. "Oh, I was making this upside down cake dessert that my favorite maid always prepares. It was supposed to be for her birthday but . . ." Queen Rydia starts to wipe off the flour that spots her pink tunic around her hips. "it didn't turn out too good. But come on," she continues, setting her hand on the assassin's shoulder. Roxas looks to it and notices the guards growing tense. Do they really think he would attack the Queen after _this_ long? "Won't you escort me back to the kitchen? I don't believe you have seen it yet."

"I didn't have a proper reason to." Roxas says, still weary of the Queen's hand on his shoulder.

"Well, now you do." Queen Rydia beams as she hooks her arm with Roxas' and they start walking in her originally direction. Because he doesn't have anything else to do, and because he doesn't want to be swinging from the gallows, Roxas lets the Queen guide him. To his surprise, she is only a half inch shorter than him. She always seemed, taller.

Roxas recognizes one hallway they pass through and after passing through the dining room, servants stopping and bowing as Roxas and the Queen pass by, they head down a servants' staircase and down into the kitchen.

Going off from the examples of his own room and Kiros', he obliterates his expectations of what he _thought_ to the kitchen would look like. They get to the bottom of the stairs and the ceilings grow high. What he thought he'd see were stone catacombs with moistened walls and the air thickened with body sweat. But the castle has cease to amaze him.

There are a handful of servants in the kitchen, going in and out of doors carrying trays and carts of food, and what he thought there would be cramped spaces, people mumbling 'excuse me' or dodging elbows, there's enough space all around that the servants don't even need to try and squeeze around each other. Even those carrying full trays can pass by without lowering or advising those to move.

First thing he notices are windows; they are in perfect squares and line the left-hand wall in a straight narrow, letting in more and more of the sunlight. It's like the king and queen's number one rule is to leave no room devoid of sunlight. But Roxas isn't complaining; truthfully, being in a darkened basement with the queen and her guards would be more unnerving.

The entire thing has shifted from the marble, to red brick walls and beige stones floors. They seem to breathe the essence of centuries of warm breads, thick soups and sweetened desserts, giving the subterranean halls a pleasant, open feeling. There's a long wooden table in the middle that stretches the length of the room, copper sinks and pots and pans and skillets are against the left wall, then lots of bookcases filled to the edges with ingredients and spices are on the right before it cuts into another section of the kitchen. Amidst the shelves and counters, there's a large mahogany grandfather clock with a golden pendulum that swings back and forth. Its ticking lost amongst the chatter. An enormous tapestry is against the back wall over the ovens, bearing the image a large firebird. Roxas tilts his head as he gazes at the bird.

It's surrounded by an amazing blaze of red and orange, its wings leaving spits of flames in its wake, and its tail shrinking into gloriously yellow ribbons. Kiros had said that the phoenix was Valendia's original god, what had happened to it? It clearly is remembered by some, even those who aren't that old? Why change their own gods for that of Galtea?

Some of the servants are at the table chopping vegetables and dead chickens, and churning butter. Others starting to string up freshly dead pigs. The large brick ovens in the back are glowing with an orange light, permeating the entire space with the fresh smell of wheat bread and sweet fruit pies.

"Well, this is the kitchen." Queen Rydia beams.

As they approach, the servants all turn their heads and give genuine smiles to the Queen, their eyes widening when they beheld her on Roxas' arm. There's the exchange of 'Good day, Your Majesty', or 'Welcome back, my Lady Queen.' Dangling from the ceiling are pheasants, rabbits, herbs, salmon and more vegetables. There's the tinkling and banging of pots as they're removed from their hooks or set into the sinks.

"Come here often enough, Your Majesty?" Roxas smiles as the Queen releases her elbow and starts to walk ahead.

"I like to come here and watch the servants make all the food we eat from scratch. They even started to teach me. It gives me something to do when I'm not with Sephiroth. I may be Queen, but I am still a woman. And besides, it's the only time I can dress comfortably. Those absurd corsets crush my ribs." She says, and Roxas chuckles. She turns the corner into the hallway that leads to the next room and Roxas follows, the guards behind him.

They walk down a red brick hall and into a smaller room where there's a hearth fire boiling multiple black pots of delicious smelling soups and stews. Three more women are present, just on their way out and giving the Queen delighted nods and smiles.

Rydia turns to Roxas and motions him inside. "Come on!" she chimes. "This is my little section here. This is where I take all my lessons."

Inside, Roxas is stunned to see another window on the wall, but at the center is a simple sized table – that is a complete _mess_. There are speckles and smears of sugar and flour everywhere, multiple bowls dripping with batter, glass containers spilt over, chocolate chips spilling onto the floor along with a couple other dirtied forks and mixing spoons and an open cookbook with the corners of its pages stained, smeared or ripped.

Roxas looks at the table baffled. "What in the hell?" he mumbles.

Queen Rydia was currently in the back of the room, stirring one of the pots of stew when she looks over her shoulder at Roxas' comment, and she gives a bashful smile. "I guess I have much learning to do." She says with a timid giggle.

"Hmph, you sure do." Roxas chuckles. He casts a look to one of the young women in the corner.

One with a black braid looks to Roxas and shakes her head smiling as if to say: " _She uses a lot of ingredients and makes a lot of messes, but we live in the castle. They're easily replaceable_."

" _But what about cleaning up the messes? That must take some time_." Roxas' look replies.

The woman shrugs her shoulders. " _She has a kind heart, and a pure soul_."

A faint pop draws Roxas' attention away from their silent conversation and finds the queen opening a bottle of red wine. He doesn't say anything and neither do the guards as she fills two silver goblets. She turns and hands it to him.

He takes it with a nod and weary smile. When the queen raises her goblet, Roxas does the same and they share a sip.

Gods above, it's the best wine Roxas has ever tasted! Even without his Elven senses, he can taste the sourness of the grape juice, but then the sweetness of the pinch of sugar they put in it to make it sweet. The thickness is incredible and it flows smoothly against his throat, and warning his tongue. Roxas has always been accustomed to wine; he had started drinking it right when he had turned thirteen; his father claiming it was best e grow accustomed to the taste since he'll be attending a lot of adult parties. And then it was the only thing he consumed when he was dealing with his sluggish depression back in Lesalia. He would think that the reminding taste would make him spit it out, but this wine was different. Not some cheap bottle he could swipe form a vendor's cart, but freshly made from the orchards inside the castle's personal garden.

As Roxas moves closer to the queen to allow the servants to walk in and out, he leans against the counter on the right side of the room as the queen helps a young blonde servant clean up the dishes from the table. Taking another delicate sip from his goblet, there's a sudden up rise in the talking out in the main chamber. His and a few of the servants' heads turn as a stuttering handmaid dressed in an elegant sea-green gown hurries to the door. "Oh, Your Majesty! There you are!" she hurries into the room, nearly tripping over one of the guard's boots.

Roxas immediately rolls his eyes as she hurries over to the queen, her breasts bouncing out her corset and her ringlet hair flowing past her shoulders. She's a pretty young thing, with pale skin, chocolate brown eyes, and long black hair that reaches the bottom of her spine in loose curls. But Roxas has a short fuse when it comes to the stuttering and stumbling.

He looks to the guards with a raised eyebrow and a few of them shake their heads or fold in their lips to keep from laughing too loudly.

"Your Majesty, I've been looking for you." The girls says with heaving breaths. "We need to talk about your visiting King Sephiroth's brother. The party is in two days and you still haven't declared your dress!"

Roxas rolls his eyes and takes another large sip of wine from his goblet.

"Oh it won't matter what I wear. Kadaj has already seen me, he knows me and –"

"Of course it matter, Your Highness!" the girl interrupts the queen. Roxas pauses his drinking, the goblets still pressed against his lips in mid-sip as his wide eyes wait for the queen to order the girl to the gallows. "You must constantly represent yourself and the king and all of Valendia!" Roxas lowers the goblet, his shoulders hopping as he chuckles when the queen rolls her eyes. "And not only that, but you have to pick your escort and guardsmen as your go."

"I don't need guards when visiting my brother-in-law, Garnet." The queen argues.

"You may be family, but that still leaves the rest of Valendia and the dignitaries of the other countries to impress." Garnet counters.

Queen Rydia lowers her silver goblet back onto the table and sets her hands on her hourglass hips as she sighs. A servant girl quickly grabs a dirtied bowl and leaves the room. "I thought the captain was escorting me."

"He is busy with work inside the castle, and you already know the king as council meetings until the evening." Garnet says.

"Well what about . . ." Queen Rydia trails off as Roxas take another sip from his drink. Suddenly, his stomach drops. "Tobias!"

Roxas spews out the wine from his mouth, and it drips down his chin and into his esophagus. He coughs as he sets the goblet onto the table and wipes his chin with the back of his wrist. "What?!"

The queen takes two long strides towards him and takes his dry hand. "You'll escort me to the ball, won't you?"

Roxas' mouth just hangs open, mouthing like a wooden puppet as he struggles to figure what to say. But at least the Queen was smart enough to say his alias name and not expose him to the ten of servants in here. "I . . . I mean I, um."

"Oh please, won't you be my escort to the ball, Tobias?"

"Y-Your Majesty, I don't know if that's the proper thing to do." Roxas finally says. "I don't know if I can afford to leave the castle." Though truth be told he's been dying for something to get him out of the castle. He can only take so much of the same routine of training and eating and more training and more eating.

"You said no one knows who you are. You've kept your identity a secret for so long, we'll be the stars of the ball –"

"Your Highness," a guard suddenly interrupts. "I'm sorry, but we must be going."

"Oh that's right!" Garnet says brightly. "We must prepare you for the acting troupe performing your favorite plays tonight." She giggles to herself and bops out of the room towards the main chamber of the kitchen. Her hair sways back and forth, her curls tangling with one another.

The queen turns back to Roxas as the guards start to form an aisle for her to walk. "Tobias, please. You won't regret it. It'll be fun."

"Your Majesty, please." Garnet beckons. Roxas snarls at the girl along with the queen's sneer.

She releases Roxas' hand and groans as she takes her goblet again and leaves the room. Roxas follows after her, only looking back at the servants as they clean up the small puddle of wine he spat. "Sorry." Roxas says over his shoulder, giving the servants an apologetic look. They wave him off and continue their work. Cheeks growing warm, the assassin leaves the room and follows the queen.

He doesn't say anything as he follows Garnet and the queen back up to the main floor, the space opening up more and allowing more air. Slowly the smell of spiced bread fades away. He leaves the conversation between Garnet and the queen as he follows with the guards bringing up the end. They mostly bicker back and forth and Roxas keeps looking from side to side or for open doors that he can disappear into. Until he hears Rydia say: "Tobias, why can't you escort me. I'd rather have your charming company than that of an intimidated guard."

Roxas looks to the queen with raised eyebrows, but before he can reply, Garnet chimes in. "Oh your majesty, he is not going to want to shadow you while you mingle with other court ladies. He'll just wander off the moment he finds suitable ladies for himself."

"That's some talk coming from the queen's lapdog. I'm assuming no guard has bothered to pay you any attention." Roxas suddenly snarls. Some of the guards immediately chuckle, the queen herself covering her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. Garnet looks to Roxas with squinted eyes and her mouth tightly pinched as if she had tasted something sour. She turns to the queen. "He's not even of heritage. What would people think if they saw you come in with a mortal man?"

"Garnet," the queen snaps, her tone tinted with annoyance. "It shouldn't matter." Her features suddenly smooth and she instantly becomes the intimidating ruler Roxas had faced during his first audience. "Everyone knows better than to question me. If anything, I think they would find it pleasing to know I don't discriminate."

"It would be scandalous!"

"Well not everyone has a narrow mind such as you, Garnet." She says as she links her hand with Roxas' arm and the two continue down the hall. Her goblet winks light as she carries it in her free hand. Roxas spares Garnet a smirk as they pass. He nearly laughed when he saw the horrid look on the handmaid's face. Still, she scrambles to walk evenly with them.

"Five other of the guards have already turned me down." Queen Rydia says to Roxas. "And I do understand. It's an awful lot to do. I'm always at risk whenever I leave the castle. Paranoia of undercover enemies have always been the worry since Sephiroth had been to a party with the most deadly assassins not too long ago. And he was with our captain who let him stay there for three hours."

Roxas looks to the queen shocked. Maleek had let King Sephiroth stay at a party with deadly assassins? For _three_ hours? It's a miracle he hadn't lost his position. And yet it's a wonder the king hadn't been killed.

"But I thank you for your consideration." She says with a pat on his arm.

"Now wait a minute," Roxas stops and the queen stops with him, the guards nearly bumping into Garnet. "When did you hear me say I didn't want to escort you?"

The queen's eyes widen as she steps around to face Roxas. "Wait, so . . . you'll do it?"

There was something so virginal about the way the queen had asked, something so childlike in her voice and so saccharine about how her eyes twinkled with sudden excitement, that Roxas merely slumped his shoulders with a sigh and motioned his hand as if to say, " _I'm still here aren't I_?"

The Queen immediately squeals, her eyes widening and her one hand covering her mouth, her other arm abruptly jerking upwards and spilling the remains of her wine onto the carpet and into the face of another guard.

Roxas doesn't have time to laugh as the queen lunges at him hopping and cackling as she envelopes him in a hug. Immediately his hand goes to grab her arm that's around his neck, but careful not to throw any of the guards into defense.

"No hugging, no hugging." Roxas says.

She immediately pulls back and brushes some hair off her forehead. She clears her throat and squares her shoulders. "I'm sorry." She says, her smile returning, brighter than before. "I tend to lose my composure when I'm excited. Thank you. Thank you so much."

She takes Roxas' hand in her own and pulls him forward.

"Come on!" she urges. Her steps are quicker and Roxas has to increase his speed to keep up with her. She gives the guard a quick apology and has Garnet call someone to clean up the spill.

They start walking again, the Queen keeping her hand around Roxas' arm until they reach a set of closed doors. Thankfully Garnet stayed behind with the spilt wine to show the servant that was to come where to clean. Roxas and Rydia both laughing at a teasing comment she made once they was out of earshot.

The guards stop with the queen and two of them opening the doors. Inside, is where Queen Rydia holds her court as Roxas can tell from the piano and harp tucked away in the corner, the large windows currently curtained shut and the three enormous chandeliers that dangle from the high ceiling and the plush and luxurious furniture tastefully scattered throughout the room.

Queen Rydia releases him and takes a sip from her goblet with whatever wine is left. "Are you hungry?"

"No ma'am." Roxas instantly replies without thinking. He should've said Your Highness where did _that_ come from? Queen Rydia is still walking ahead of him so he quickly stops her. "Now hold on a second." The queen turns to face him. "We need to discuss some things first."

Rydia blinks. "Oh – oh yes, of course. Forgive me. First and foremost, the party isn't for a few days, so we have time to get your dressed in something spectacular." She takes a seat in one of the wing chairs. She folds her hands in her lap, covering the foot of the goblet.

Correspondingly, Roxas stands straighter and squares his shoulders. He folds his hands in front of him. "So, when do you want me in the entrance hall?" he asks.

"We're to depart for the party after nine, but I want to _leave_ the party before four." says the queen.

"Okay." Roxas nods. "And have you already arranged that your maiden name is to be announced?"

Rydia's smile falters slightly, and she shifts nervously. "Kadaj, doesn't exactly know I'm not arriving without Sephiroth."

Roxas' eyes narrow and his expression grows stern. "And what is Kadaj going to think when you walk in to his home with a _younger man_ on your arm? Apart from the scandalous rumors that could arise, you don't think that King Sephiroth not arriving would be at all offensive? That he couldn't spare the time to come?"

"It's not like I am lying, Roxas. You have such similar features to Sephiroth. Your eyes, and your hair when it catches the light. You even have that same scowl. Besides, Kadaj knows how busy his brother is. And I have arrived to parties on my own plenty of times before." Rydia assures.

Roxas stares at the queen for a moment, biting his full bottom lip. Then he relaxes his shoulders and sighs through his nose. "I'll be at your chambers by nine-fifteen."

Queen Rydia smiles again and gives a relieved laugh. "Great." She takes another sip from her goblet.

As Roxas is about to dismiss himself, a strange scent wafts into his nose. He pauses and his nostrils flare as he sniffs. He then closes his eyes as he says, "Your Majesty,"

"Hm?" the queen hums as she finishes her drink. She covers her mouth as she looks to Roxas.

He gives her an amused smile. "I think you might've incinerated your pig."

The queen slowly rises from her hair, her nose picking up the smell of burned meat. There was a pig she had prepared before she had run into Roxas in the hall. She fists her free hand and swears incredibly colorfully as she dashes back down the hall towards the kitchen. Roxas watches her run back, the sound of her boots slapping against the floor

He chuckles and shakes his head as he nods to the guards. They leave him be as they casually follow after the queen. Once Roxas turns a corner, he is completely alone, the sounds of his footsteps his only company.

Attending a party with the Queen of Valendia. Oh, if only his father could see him now. To go from a deadly assassin, to a running fugitive, to a possessed monster, to a half-starved, hopeless assassin, to a warrior of immortal abilities.

He passes by a window and can feel the sunlight brushing his skin and warming his cheeks. Outside, the Royal City looks stunning as the green-tiled roofs glitter and strings of brightly colored leaves are hung between lampposts and colored corns are affixed to the front doors of shops and homes.

He steps closer and sets his hand on the glass. It's cold as ice, but still he smiles. It's still so odd to think his father is in a different continent far away from him right now. Even more so to think that Axel is in the _same_ continent.

He misses them dearly, but it's less painful than before. Roxas removes his hand from the glass and sets it on his heart. He can still feel them, close. Gone, but not forgotten. As he feels his heart beat, he keeps reminding himself that he is here for a reason.

It's not just about winning his freedom anymore, but about being here – on this earth. He could've taken it away so many times before. He could've freed himself in his own way. He had tried once, but it wasn't sensual. And it would've seemed . . . wasted.

He is still here. Still alive, still breathing. Still dreaming.

A clock from somewhere in the hall sounds, its four note song echoing loudly. The assassin sighs through his nose as he steps away from the window. Feeling unusually giddy with delight, Roxas' smile never fades even as he makes the trek back to his chambers.


	46. Chapter 19 (Part Two)

_Dear Cloud,_

 _It is with a lightened heart that I report to you the status of your son. Ever since we had pulled him from Gollund Mines, he has proven himself to be as determined, as stubborn, and as silver-tongued as you had described._

 _The boy has done a tremendous job fitting in among my Elven coven and making himself at home in my castle. He has regained the weight and muscle he has lost during the times of his labor, and has proven that his skills are still as sharp as when you had trained him as a youngling._

 _He is incredible now. Every morning at dawn I see him sprinting with my Captain of the Guard through our game park. If not him, then I see him sprinting with the stallion horses that are in the fields. He_ leads _them and they_ _follow_ ; _it is astonishing and rather unnerving when I remember he is now twenty years old – well, in mortal standards._

 _He has shown glimpses of his immortal self and abilities, but has yet to use them in battle. I believe he might be trying to prove himself as a mortal, and so far, he has not disappointed me. Though, I have words to say to my other men about a mortal man over showing them, but that is a discussion for another time._

 _I have to admit, the boy is as beautiful as you said. But unfortunately, just as damaged as well._

 _Yet with each day, I can feel both of our barriers melting. We_ let _them melt. Because of his genuine laugh, because I had caught him sleeping with his face in a book with drool in the corner of his mouth, because I know that he understands the burden that comes with immortality._

 _He is a criminal – a prodigy at killing, a King of the Shadows – and yet . . . yet he is still just a young blood, sent at nineteen to Gollund Mines._

 _It makes me sick every time I think about it. I was training with my councilor on Valendian history at nineteen while also courting a young woman, with a roof over my head, good food, and good people – not a care in the world. But your son – at_ nineteen _– had gone to a death camp. And survived._

 _I don't even know if I could survive Gollund, let alone during the winter months. I've never been whipped, never seen anyone violently die. I've never been cold or starving. Whenever I hear him laugh, it is greater than any magic that I have seen._

 _He survived a death camp, and yet he can still laugh._

 _In my honesty, I can see the hollowness in the boy's eyes, that storm that always seems to make him . . . hold back, to hesitate. I wish you could be here to see him, I know you would feel proud and I know you could help him, but he seems to be fine in consolidating with my captain. But still, there are words that only a father can give to his son._

 _Be sure to expect another letter from me soon. Forgive me in that I haven't contacted you since your letter arrived to me, but with the way things are going, progress reports will be a must._

 _I wish you the best of luck._

 _Sincerely,_

 _King Sephiroth Gainsborough of Valendia._

Cloud Skyes looks over the letter with a sad smile. The letter written in elegant cursive handwriting. He sets down the paper on his desk, which is littered with more papers and stacks of books and a dagger off in the corner. He rubs his head as he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Relief hits him like a punch in the gut rather than a smooth exhaustion of tension.

Warm sunlight leaks into his massive chambers in King Mickey's castle, his new home since his son had departed from him. It twinkles along the white tiles and a breeze from his open balcony doors sends the royal blue curtains swaying. As a fire gives a form of evenness to the chilling autumn breeze, Cloud inhales as he catches the sent of spice and dried leaves from the city of Twilight Town.

It's so wonderful to hear from the king again. He had only gotten word from him weeks after his first letter had been delivered, and that was only a letter of assurance that they'd leave in a couple weeks. They hadn't even gotten him yet.

After the one year anniversary of his son Roxas Skyes' imprisonment to Gollund Mines, he had written to the King of Valendia asking that he retrieve his son from the mines. It was his last resort, and a rather risky one at that. For his own reasons, he had avoided any confrontation with the king. But when everything else had failed, since King Mickey's influence in Ivalice was as much as a gutter rat, he had no other way.

As he was writing the letter, he had to stop multiple times because his hand was shaking. But he managed to get through it, and the moment he delivered it to the post office, he put it out of his mind; otherwise he would over think it, regret it and would have torn apart the office to get it back.

Once he had gotten word from the king that his son was out of the mines, but in such horrible condition, Cloud physically locked himself in his room so that he wouldn't do something crazy like buying a ticket for the first ship to sail to Valendia. The moment he read the words: _We have retrieved your son from the mines_ . . . Cloud's heart had stopped and he started crying. Thank the gods it was in the privacy of his chambers.

His son was out, his son was free. Or at least free of the cruelty. At least now he'd be back in the lap of luxury in King Sephiroth's marble castle. After he had finished the letter, and once he settled the brashness of his mind, Cloud started to think again on how he could sail to Valendia.

But then, his thoughts were quickly obliterated when he remembered what he had said to Roxas. The words he had said to him on the day his son boarded the ship to Ivalice and out of Kingdom Hearts. It's clear Roxas still hasn't figured it out, and Cloud doesn't want to go to Valendia until he has. And perhaps once his son's emotions have settled in. There are some things that the King himself has to help with Roxas.

Apart from that reasoning, he couldn't just leave; not when he has taken on the position of top general for King Mickey's army. Now that it's been official that his former wife Tifa Lockhart has been conspiring with the King of Kerwon, the descendant of the Dark Lord Xehanort who had ordered the execution of the Elves of Kingdom Hearts, the decision was made that King Mickey and his men join forces with Valendia's army as well as the rebels hiding out in Galtea. It was even reported that Prince Kiros Seagill of Galtea is staying King Sephiroth's castle. Cloud couldn't help but chuckle – whether from excitement or amusement – at the thought of his son and the Prince of Galtea becoming friends. They certainly would be forces to be reckoned with.

Since it is clear that Tifa Lockhart is still in Kingdom Hearts, they've decided to send out their Captain of the Guard and former Guild Master of the Wolves, Terra, out with troops towards the borderline of Hollow Bastion and Twilight Town. It was rumored that a handful of Tifa's "borrowed" troops were camped out on the border preparing to strike on Twilight Town in a search for Roxas, thinking he might've returned.

There hasn't been reports on the numbers of Tifa's Faceless Assassins. None since Roxas had slaughtered them while under the mind control serum she had injected into him. There were speculations that she was regaining the numbers she had lost, but through discreet covert missions he conducted himself, Cloud hasn't seen a change in her numbers.

Port Royal is their main objective to protecting of defending as they don't want any of her troops or assassin boarding to Ivalice. So far, they've managed to keep any of the enemy soldiers from boarding, and Port Royal has remained under their control. Meanwhile, through contacts in Valendia, troops are so far keeping Kerwon's troops out of their territory, and had managed to successfully infiltrate one or two of their forts in Galtea. It's not much, but any territory they can reclaim is greatly rewarded.

To think that his son is now a member of The Thirteen, the Elven coven that is well known, well respected and well feared. So far they've managed to stay out of the war, the King of Valendia saying that he doesn't want his immortal Elves involved in such tasks. But to others, it's a waste of their talents using them as mere security. Rumors spread all over the place like a plague when it comes to The Thirteen.

They say one member can pin a fly to a tree with an arrow a hundred yards away, without killing it. Another can slice enemies in half with one slash of his blades and not spill one drop of blood. Then there's another who can command the winds and the waters of the oceans, bending them to his will and creating waves as tall as the castle's highest spire.

If Roxas is to become a part of this coven, what will his rumor be? Or saying that would indicate it was him? Cloud smiles as he taps a set of papers in line.

How badly he wanted to write to his son, to tell him he is thinking of him. But he has sworn to the King of Valendia that he has to refrain from contacting Roxas. Otherwise, questions will be asked, and information will be revealed before Roxas is ready.

It's odd, to think in a way that Cloud and Sephiroth are two sides of the same coin. Both Kings of their own empire, both forging and wielding Roxas into something of their own personal image. It sounded cruel when Cloud was determined to make Roxas a cold and ruthless killer, but now, it's valiant in that he can and will become a warrior of immortal proportions.

Sighing, the King of Assassins tucks the papers away into his desk drawer and begins to poring himself over the map of Kingdom Hearts. So far, most of the territory located to the east of the continent, the border separated by the 100 Acre Woods, is under Tifa's control. The smaller kingdoms and their rulers were easily overthrown, but at least she had enough sanity to not slaughter the royal families.

Their next council meeting will be discussion on whether or not to send Terra and his men towards The Land of Dragons, Tifa's first line of defense. They haven't tried pushing their boundaries towards the west, probably still hesitant since it's with Cloud and the King and all former Guild Masters, not to mention the forces of Atlantica and Destiny Isles give them a powerful navy. They might be Tifa's next target, just one of those two navies will be more beneficial than none, and the King currently has two.

Cloud sighs. It's a lot to think about, but it's nothing he can't handle. He can promise he's done dirtier and tougher dealings during his time as emperor of his own dark empire.

As he casts his eyes to the corner of his desk, under the small triad candelabrum, he finds a smaller portrait of him and Roxas. It was back when Cloud hired a painter to portray Roxas as a child. So there they are, Cloud sitting on a red cushioned couch with Roxas in his lap. In its own way, it's a little disturbing; Even if they're both smiling, Roxas laughing as Cloud holds him, Roxas is holding a dagger in his hand. It's almost as big as he is. It was back when they were happy. Tifa would always get upset with Cloud for letting Roxas hold something so sharp.

Cloud looks at the framed picture and smiles, thankful it hadn't faded over the years. He had found that while he went rummaging through his things at the mansion. Since he was to be living in the castle with King Mickey, he had to take a few personal belongings with him while Saix looks after the mansion.

Brushing his finger over Roxas' young, smiling face, he can't help but feel the guilt that's been discreetly hovering around him for the past twenty years. Roxas had been just as naive, innocent and sweet as any other child. He would've done a lot of great things. He would've made a lot of friends. He would've done anything else if he was a normal boy.

But he's not. Cloud had grown him into a cold and ruthless killer, incapable of feeling _anything_ , with a heart made of stone and a will of steel. He had soiled Roxas' innocence the moment he made him take someone's life. He has stolen trinkets from nobles, and had frame priests for murder, covered up the most impossible of murders.

He was good at what he did, he probably was – is – still the best.

Still, perhaps it would be best to give Roxas something so that when the time comes, he will at least have something from Cloud, if he can't make the travel to Ivalice.

Cloud takes out a fresh sheet of paper and dipping his pen into the inkwell, he begins to write his return letter.

* * *

Taking a delicate sip of her red wine, a comfortable fire crackling behind her, Tifa Lockhart scans her eyes across the map in front of her. Her long red nails clink against the glass, her gold ring glinting in the ember light. The room is only lit by the grand fireplace on the far back wall. It burns, casting a glossy look on all the silken fabrics on the couches. Two large mahogany dressers and chests occupy the right side as well as another bookshelf with trinkets and odds and ends.

In her not-so-lavish, but tolerable country side bungalow home in Traverse Town, one of the few houses that Cloud and his fellow assassins hadn't burned to the ground, Tifa traces a line with her pen across the large river that cuts through The Deadlands of Valendia and then it becomes The Orient. She growls. Every time she sends troops to The Orient, they are never heard from again. It makes her curious and infuriated. What could the Elven King Sephiroth be hiding in there?

Currently, her troops, or rather her troops from the King of Kerwon, are settled on the Yensa Sandsea, the small section of desert that separates Ordallia from Galtea. Even if she is still in Kingdom Hearts, that doesn't mean she doesn't know what is going on. The King has done a wonderful job at being her benefactor for the last year and a half now. Galtea has long been under Kerwon's conquest, but it was with her help that the King's top generals were able to take a small section of Ordallia. Still, with Valendia's troops still holding up the walls, it will be nearly impossible to conquer the rest without losing so many men.

Gods damn them! Those Elven soldiers. Capable of things that stretch far past the mortal standards. How she longed for that power, that capability. If it weren't for the fleeing of her gifted son into Ivailce, she would've had it by now.

After she had watched her son rip apart her Faceless Assassins under the control of a poison serum – a decision she still has no regrets for – she had wanted that power and such for the year that had followed. Her whole plan was simple: see the power the elves hold, see it within her own son so that her assumptions were validated, and then extract some blood from Roxas so that she can mix it, stir it and then inject it into herself. Once her poison serum was ready, creating a serum with Roxas' Elven blood would've been maddeningly easy. And with their blood bond, it she would've easily grown accustomed to it.

She could've easily gotten it too, had he not sailed off. And then there was the matter that he had gotten himself thrown into Gollund Mines, one of Ivalice's most brutal slave camps where the guards can whip you for taking a break more than ten seconds. He was probably dead, which made her even angrier. How was she supposed to find compatible blood now? It was perfect with Roxas, and now, she's back to square one.

Instead of making herself more and more angry and breaking apart _another_ room, Tifa threw herself fully into aiding the King of Kerwon and his conquests.

The doors to her study opens slowly, and a shadow briefly blocks the light of the hallway, and then closes the door behind. Muffled footsteps come up to her desk and stop. A letter is flung onto the shining wood surface, without so much as a hello. Tifa doesn't need to lift her head to see who it is. As she opens her mouth, Tifa merely lifts a finger, smiling faintly, and returns to her papers.

She flips a page, rapidly scanning her documents in front of her, and makes a vague wave with her hand. _Sit_.

Tifa takes the letter and sets it atop her nearby stack of papers. She can see the assassin's shadow finally shift and take a seat into the cherry wood armchair in front of her desk. Good. Just as she taught her. They are supposed to wait until _she_ is ready. But that doesn't mean she's incapable of multitasking.

"So Kairi, how have things been going for you?" the Queen of the Underworld asks.

"Fine. Thank you." Kairi replies.

Tifa knows better than to make conversation with her remaining members. Kairi is one of the few, loyal to her by default. After her twin sister Namine was killed by Maleek in the carnage of her glass castle's garden, Kairi had been remotely withdrawn and silent; her diagnostic was that she had gone silent due to emotional trauma. For a while, Tifa couldn't even use her, she was a blank like wooden puppet and just stared into space for hours on end.

Finally, one day, Tifa had decided to grant the girl a charity in honor of Yuletide and had found the man responsible for the killing of her grandparents. The girls' mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had all been former members of the Faceless, and they had said that The Faceless had killed their mother after her refusal to continue on the lineage. But the faceless would never do that, each member makes their own decision. If you didn't want to be a part of it, that was fine, but you were still responsible for paying back the debt that the Faceless had spent to seed and shelter you.

The truth was that a jealous rival of Kairi's mother couldn't bring himself to terms with her marriage, and so he went and killed Kairi and Namine's mother, and blaming the Faceless was the easiest, and the most believable.

When Tifa had told her the truth, it stirred something in Kairi, enough to draw a few words of conversation. Tifa was rather impressed when Kairi had come home covered in blood, a dead and hollow look in her eye, and the head of the man responsible, of which she fed to the dogs. The body of the man was left skinned like an animal, his pelt sprawled across the stairs of his family's local business, and his head was carved open, his brain squished and his groin cut off and shoved down his throat. Honestly, Tifa didn't know Kairi had such vulgar killing skills in her.

She also doesn't need to look up towards the now nineteen-year-old to see the mark that the case had left on her. Her eye had been brutally stabbed in the fight and when healers offered to fix it, Kairi denied them. Why, Tifa didn't care.

Now, the pupil is milky white, the outer edges bloody. From her forehead to her cheek, the inflamed scar overwhelms whatever beauty she might have had.

Tifa reads three more documents before she even bothers to pick up the letter that Kairi had tossed onto her desk. As she reads it, Tifa's perfectly plucked eyebrows lift. It was from the King of Kerwon, and it was a more . . . private letter. Tifa coldly chuckles.

She knew this was coming eventually, her beauty is one of the things she had used against the king to get him to do what she wanted. And she only held up her end when the soldiers had managed to take over Yensa Sandsea as their territory. He has also asked to have a few of Tifa's Faceless assassins be shipped to Kerwon to aid his soldiers, but Tifa declined. She wants them all here with her. She finally looks to Kairi, setting the letter down as if it was nothing more than a scrap of paper. "Well," Tifa says. "I assume you're still here for good reason?"

Kairi keeps her back straight and her chin upheld. "I have come with interesting news, My Lady."

"Really?" Tifa says, her eyebrows lift as she takes her wine glass in her hand and takes a delicate sip.

"A rumor that's been going around Valendia has set tongues wagging." Kairi says. "It would seem that a man by the name of Clayton was the recent victim of an untimely death."

"I see." Tifa says smoothly. "And why do you think I care to know this, Kairi?" She rises from her leather chair and strode around the desk. Her long legs and years of training make her movements effortlessly graceful.

Tucked in the right corner is a gorgeously designed vanity with a gold outline done with the delicate design of feathers. Tifa takes a seat on the velvet red divan, and takes an exquisite comb accentuated with a sliver of sapphire, and starts combing through her black curly hair.

The curves of her body is accentuated from the silk red robe she wears. The neckline plunges down with black lace tracing along it, and there's a slit in the ankle long skirt that cuts its way up to her thigh. On her feet are high black heels. Her cheeks are smooth and round, as if Tifa has been carved from stone in the image of a goddess. Her copper brown eyes still as piercing as ever, and Kairi can't get past the cold glare that's embedded within them.

"I speak this because he was dispatched by The Thirteen, the King of Valendia's personal coven of elves." Kairi says weakly, her voice slightly quivering.

Tifa places the brush back on the vanity so softly Kairi can't even hear the small tap it makes as it hits the wood. Then again Kairi can't hear anything over the roar of blood on her ears. Her tongue is frozen and speech seems to be impossible. Kairi can't help but treat Tifa like a real snake, the venomous kind. She stands motionless, her eyes locked on her, considering plans of retreat.

"The battle had destroyed multiple shop windows and a carriage, but what most people are speaking about is the one who had dispatched him." Kairi explains. "They say that is was a man dressed in complete black. The only details they can see were his eyes. They say they were a bright blue and ringed with gold, and little bits of blonde hair poked out from his hood."

"Hmm . . . interesting." Tifa purrs.

Kairi has never seen Tifa like this. She's not a maniac anymore; she is perfectly controlled, perfectly poised. Careful and quiet.

For the first time in a while, Kairi recognizes Tifa for what she is: a cold-hearted hunter disguised as a woman, a genius as well as a sadist, a hunter of beauty. She slowly turn to face Kairi. Since her son had left for Ivalice, and then imprisoned in Gollund Slave Mines, she's been rather, unbalanced . . .

Kairi wants to run.

"That's quite the bold statement to bring to me, Kairi." both of Tifa's perfectly shaped eyebrows lift, but no creases form into her forehead. "I would hope that you have enough clarification to validate this claim."

"I . . ." Kairi takes a deep breath. She feels her pulse in her throat. "I'm afraid I do not. I just thought it would be wise to bring this to your attention." She surprises herself when she answers in a steady tone.

The look Tifa gives reminds Kairi now of a wolf of the wilds – a viscous, predatory stare. Kairi feels her pulse in her throat. She wants to rip Kairi to pieces. Kairi doesn't know whether to lie down in submission or an attack wolf herself.

Tifa would kill her if she wanted to, Kairi can feel it. Tifa's hands curl into fists – she can see it even if they're folded neatly in her lap. Kairi is alone here; if something happens to her, no one will know and no one will see it.

Tifa's mouth pinches for a second, then her lips purse and she rises to stand. She sidesteps and motions towards the divan.

"Come and sit down, Kairi."

It's hard to breathe.

Once again, Kairi feels her legs guide her woodenly guide her towards the vanity. The space closing up, Kairi swallows again to ensure she still has air flowing through her lungs. She sits down, fisting her sister's bracelet in her hand. She can feel herself shaking as she lifts her arm slightly, then sets it back down, gripping the seat.

Tifa stands behind her, at first gazing at both of their reflections before reaching over Kairi's shoulder, the heat of her skin causes a shudder through Kairi's chest, and grabs the brush. She gingerly takes out the hairband holding Kairi's hair in a ponytail.

Kairi tries not to cringe at the thought of Tifa's black hair entangling with her auburn red, but she can't protest. Instead she sits proper, hands folded in her lap and takes a deep breath.

Without reason or explanation, Tifa begins to comb through Kairi's hair. She looks so calm and focused; and this adds to Kairi's hysteria. She tries not to flinch every time Tifa's finger touches the small strands next to her ear, and when she gently rakes them across her scalp to hold down fly-away's.

Tifa then opens a drawer on the left and pulls out a small pair of scissors. Kairi sits rigid as Tifa stands behind her with the scissors, trimming. Her hair had grown out to the middle of her back. She hadn't bothered to trim it because looks were the last thing on her mind.

The strands fall on the floor in a dull, red ring. When she's done, she runs her fingers through Kairi's hair again. Kairi wants to questions her, smack her hand away, but she doesn't. She can't. As far as she's concerned, her life is on the line.

"You have such beautiful hair, Kairi." Tifa finally comments. Kairi remains quiet, but not out of respect, but fear. Is this how Tifa keeps control on her members?

Tifa tilts her head and smiles at Kairi.

"Really why do you not take more care of it? The red is such a harsh contrast to your eyes. With proper grooming you can steal any man you choose."

Kairi can't answer either question. Her stomach twinges.

"I'm going to ask you." Tifa states, her voice growing louder, and Kairi notes the extra tug she adds as she brushes Kairi's hair. "Why didn't you think to bring more information before coming to me? Roxas has been incapacitated in the Slave Mines of Gollund for over a year now. He's probably dead, and there are plenty of others who fit his description easily." her voice is like a razor's edge.

"I apologize, My Lady." Kairi answers. "From the moment I heard it, I just thought that you would want to hear it straight away." Further, further. "You've been wanting to hear the news of your son for a while now, so I thought that this would've been my priority." Kairi can feel her insides writhing within her.

"Kairi, you are not what I had hoped you'd be." Tifa deeply says.

Kairi's blood turns to ice.

The world becomes a whir of colors. There's a pain, a crackling. Kairi thinks it's her skull, because Tifa now has her hair locked in a vise-like grip. Her follicles screaming from the pull. There's the sound of crinkling glass.

Her eyes closed from the sudden whirl of motion, when she opens them, out of the corner of one eye, she sees red splattered across the shattered surface of Tifa's vanity mirror. The pain in Kairi's temple slowly rises and she is forced to shut an eye as the gash sends a gush of blood running down her face, into her good eye and filling her mouth with the sharp, metallic taste of her own blood.

Tifa's hand pushes Kairi's face harder into the glass. A piece of the mirror pokes at the soft surface of her bottom lip, then one small flick of Tifa's wrist and it's embedded in. Kairi screams into grit teeth. She knew what this was, this was the anger that had devoured Tifa's sense and sanity once she had lost her son. It's the one thing that can be set off by anything, even the simply mention of Roxas' name sends her reeling. And Kairi was stupid enough to come here without valid proof.

"You're really not as smart as you I thought you were." Kairi coldly comments.

Hands gripping the border, Kairi tries to push off, but she's no match from Tifa's ungodly strength. Through her good eye, Kairi expects to see Tifa with a manic look in her eye, but she still sees that cold and calculating look in those coopery brown orbs of hers.

"You should know better than to come to me with such little evidence; especially when it comes to a radical claim, Kairi. Should know better than to waste my time." Tifa hisses.

Kairi's head is viscously jerked back off the mirror. She can hear bits of it scattering across the floor. Thankfully she has just enough reflexes to turn on her side, saving her head the initial impact that would've knocked her unconscious. Her head still bumps the ground, her one hand keeping her propped up. Spots of red splatter along the floor and disappears into the crimson carpet.

Before she has time to adjust, there's a hard kick to her stomach, forcing the air out of her lungs, and it hurts, hurts so badly Kairi can't breathe.

There's the clicking of Tifa's heels, and soon Kairi feels the pressure Tifa's foot on her hand. The heel of the shoe mimics that of a dagger as it presses into her knuckles. A scream of pain erupts from her mouth. A wail that curdles her own blood and makes her hair stand on end.

"Why do you persist on antagonizing me?" Tifa asks, the pain in her voice clearly masked by anger.

Her foot lifts and Kairi curls into herself, seething that pain and cradling her hand. Suddenly a hand grabs her shoulder and forces Kairi onto her back. Tifa is now on top of her, straddling her hips, pinning Kairi's hands above her head. In her one hand is a shiny steel dagger.

"I give you the best teachers to educate you, and you come to me with this pathetic presentation?" Tifa says. She presses the tip of the dagger against Kairi's left, unscarred and not-bleeding eyebrow.

"I'll find out!" Kairi finally screams, using the pain as her fuel. "I'll find out everything! From what he was wearing, to where he went, even to what he had eaten for breakfast that morning! I will find it, and it will be yours!"

"Yes, you will."

Tifa presses the dagger into Kairi's flesh. Blood trickles around Kairi's eye. She blinks against its sting. Then suddenly there's a stab in Kairi's left forearm. She tries to jerk away, but she's still too incapacitated. Tifa digs the points of her knife into Kairi's flesh, twisting it around. There's an excruciating ripping sensation and warmth runs down Kairi wrist, filling her palm. Her screams fill the room and she doesn't bother masking them, and neither does Tifa.

The pain is so strong, Kairi searches her brain for a way out.

"I want to know everything, and I even want reports from the mines' officials themselves. Eliminate them if they dare get in your way." She yanks the dagger out.

"Yes." Kairi whimpers, the tears of her eyes mixing with her blood. "Yes, Madame."

"And don't you dare come back until you have a full, and validate presentation. I won't settle for anything else." Tifa says with an unnerving calmness. Kairi nods her head. "This is about my son, and if he is free, he simply _must_ return home to his mother."

All at once, Tifa's grip is gone as well as her weight on Kairi.

She hears the click of her heels move back towards the vanity.

"That's all I needed from you." Tifa says.

From her position on the floor, Kairi can see Tifa stab the dagger into the vanity counter, hilt up facing the ceiling and sit back down at the divan, as is nothing is the matter. If there was blood on her, the crimson colors of the nightgown didn't show it.

"Thank you for your time Kairi. You're dismissed." She says. Even with the broken mirror, she goes back to combing her hair with her brush.

Her entire hand, up to her wrists is coated in blood. Kairi feels ready to retch.

Kairi doesn't expect anyone to come in and help her, so she merely gathers her remaining strength and pushes herself to her feet. She pathetically stumbles over her cloak and falls on her hands and knees to the floor. The pain bursts through her arms nearly make her vomit. Blood pools around the cloth around her fingers, yet not absorbed into it. She feels the streams of blood as it rounds to her neck, then drips off onto the carpet.

Kairi feels ready to cry.

The new light of the halls hit her like another punch to her face and Kairi sees swirls of yellow in her vision. Blood continues pouring down her face, her neck, and her slender body. Blood trails in her wake, staining both the wood floors and the carpet lining the hall.

As she stumbles into her room, Kairi could swear she hear Namine's voice. So soft, dainty, and warm. "Kairi." It whispers.

Kairi can just picture her and Namine running through the sand of Destiny Isles; fishing and laughing at how she so easily pickpocketed a priest. Oh, how she missed her sister.

The image is beautiful.

Kairi grasps for it with desperate fingers as she feels something poke her arm.

Warmth runs through her veins and the world fades to black.


	47. Chapter 20 (Part Two)

**~WARNING~**

"Did you now?" Maleek chuckles as he prepares to take a sip of lemonade from his teacup.

"I swear." Roxas laughs along as he takes a forkful from the mound of fried vegetables set on his plate in front of him. "I spent the night in our mansion's dungeon for the welts and blisters I had left on his face from beating him with the bear itself. But it was mostly my knuckles."

Maleek snorts while in the middle of his sipping.

"Hey, at least I was smart enough not to turn my blade on him." Roxas argues as he smacks the captain's arm.

Maleek had been back before dinner just as he said, and after they greeted each other with kisses – for about ten minutes – they gathered their plates with whatever food they desired and set out on the balcony. Roxas had a set of wicker furniture that was white and cushioned, a circular table set in between. But both the captain and the assassin favored the built in bench in the corner, set with fluffy pillows and surrounded by potted plants and a string of white lights. There was also a knitted hammock chair off in the other corner, but Roxas favored that for reading.

"That was probably the only time I ever snapped on Seifer. Since he and I met at the age of ten, in the following years we've known each other, I can't think of a time when I didn't want to beat the man's face in with my dagger. Or throw him of a balcony, or do any of the number of things I had learned from my father. Well, until now." Roxas says, and Maleek laughs. Hearing his laughter fills Roxas with glee and he ends up cackling as well.

They had gotten onto the topic of Roxas and his life with his father beforehand. And Roxas just started ranting about the bitterness between him and Seifer for the years they've grown up together in the guild. And _that_ led to the story of how Roxas and Seifer got into a tangle after Seifer had snatched Roxas' favorite stuffed bear out of his hand. The ensuing fight left them both bloodied and bruised, but Seifer was left worse because Roxas had beaten him so bad that the Guild leaders couldn't see his face through the blood. Seifer's father demanded punishment, and so Roxas spent the night in the dungeon, but that was it. It could've been worse, but since he was the heir to the criminal empire, his father had let it slide. His father was proud, actually.

Since then, since things have dramatically shifted between them, a newfound respect has come into place between Seifer and Roxas. He can't help but wonder how he was doing. Roxas had managed to find out that Seifer's father had passed away not long after he had departed to Ivalice. It was in one of the letters that Cloud had sent to Roxas while they were writing one another back and forth.

Roxas had already told Maleek about Kiros and his confessions, and he didn't seem to mind that Roxas had been so open; in fact, he seemed pleased, happy. He still hasn't spoken about escorting Queen Rydia to Grand Duke Kadaj's royal party, (as his official title proclaims) but even if Maleek is against it, he can't go against the Queen's requests.

As for Kadaj himself, Roxas recognized the name but had to brush up on his history as he wasn't at first interested in King Sephiroth and his siblings. At least it gave him something else to do in his personal library until Maleek came knocking on his door.

Through his research and digging of knowledge, Kadaj was the second oldest of the bloodline of the Gainsboroughs, Sephiroth being the eldest and inherent to the throne. Then it's Loz, and then Yazoo as the youngest. Together they create the quadrilogy, the Advent Children; a powerful generation built from the purest of Elven blood. The members of the family possess magical abilities and a great love for animals, nature, magic and knowledge. Their generations hold high ranks of arcane arts, unbeatable battle skills, strategic smarts, unfathomable beauty – pretty much everything that can be accounted for, they are the best.

While Sephiroth reins upon the throne, the siblings each guard their own section of Valendia. Yazoo being the youngest, watches over the Deist Isles, Loz is sheltered in The Orient, and Kadaj is in the Greylands of the New Valendian Kingdom. It's merely a few hours out from the Royal City.

Along with Kiros saying how the warriors elves are part of the reason why no one dares to infiltrate Valendia, the Advent Children act as the continent's guardians and can easily destroy any army by themselves; at least, that's what the books say. At first, Roxas didn't believe it, but soon his curiosity grew to the point where he was eager to see and even challenge King Sephiroth in battle. Perhaps he can finally prove to the assassin he is more than a mere figure head and pretty face.

Each sibling has their own strengths, together being the guardians of Valendia. Loz is physically the strongest of the four, a powerful hand-to-hand combatant, possessing super-strength and speed that allow him to overwhelm opponents. Legends say he can shatter trees and stone pillars with a clap of his hands, and that lightning obeys to his will.

Yazoo has a sense of allure, and cool demeanor making him the most manipulative to both Elf and human, male or female. Yazoo often battles alongside his brothers in numerous war effects, and is the quietest remnant and gives off few facial emotions. He is quick and agile, swift enough to both evade many attacks, though he usually fights from a distance while shooting opponents, relying on his agility to dodge blows in close-range. Yazoo is an extremely skilled marksman, able to shoot a grain of rice off a person's head with no damage; not even a severed hair. His long-ranged and agile preferences complement Loz's hand-to-hand power tactics when they fight together.

Kadaj embodies cruelty and insanity and is a highly skilled swordsman. Despite that, the Elven warrior is as stable and sane as Roxas. He has no records of short temperament, he isn't spoiled to the point where he would hang you for cold porridge, and is known as the kindest and considerate as the goddess of light. His reputation only stayed that way when he was the . . . interrogation official, for prisoners of war. He has ended many lives, and whipped many others.

Roxas shifts nervously in his seat. Seeing him at the party might be a little unnerving with that thought, so Roxas ended his research there.

"It actually sounds like you had a progressive day." Maleek says.

Roxas nods as he sets their plates and cups on the ottoman near their feet. "I like to think so. I'm not just training all day or sprinting with the horses at dawn."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that." Maleek grins. "It certainly has helped you get back into shape."

"So you noticed?" Roxas says chuckles deviously.

Silence falls between them and Roxas can't help but stare at Maleek as he turns his head to look over the balcony. The evening sunlight catches in his hair as it billows tentatively in the breeze. Roxas feels his heart skip a beat. As his eyes scan along Maleek's sharp jawline, he thinks back to what Maleek had said yesterday night.

" _I'll be right here. Let me love you when you come undone_."

When Roxas had first heard the words, he felt his heart stiffen. He's heard them before, thought he could believe them too. He nearly growls as he thinks of Axel.

Again, he didn't really break his promise, it's just . . . things got in the way. Like being sent off to a lifetime in a death camp. But this branches past Axel's words; though they might've been true, Roxas knew that after Axel had discovered his Elven heritage, whatever had existed between the two of them was broken. And no amount of honeyed words or soft kisses could make up for it.

It only occurs to Roxas now, that it was probably what Axel was trying to achieve. Revive the love he had for the assassin by remembering the feeling of what it was like to kiss him, touch him, feel him before everything got shattered.

But Maleek . . . even when Maleek had been told, he had always put Roxas first. He always looked at Roxas the same, treated him the same, even if he acted like an arrogant ass at the times. Not only that, but he saw past Roxas façade of stone exterior and placid features. He knew, and he understood. But it also seemed like he saw something deeper inside Roxas.

Thinking about it, they're so similar in many more ways that Roxas is wondering to himself why he had waited so long?

Maleek had been raised alongside the King and trained to be Captain of the Royal Guard of Valendia. Roxas had been raised with his father to become a prodigy killer. Maleek then spent one to two years of his life as an undercover assassin for the Faceless. Even with that span of that time alone . . . the decisions he had to make, the lives he had to end to keep himself clear of suspicion. He had to go against his very morals just to expose certain information. All throughout, he had to keep his true heritage a secret. Roxas doesn't even want to think about what would've happened if his mother had tested on him instead. There's got to be more to his life that Roxas doesn't even understand.

And yet, with _his_ own story, their compatibility makes Roxas strangely smile. They were both raised in the lap of luxury and trained to be skilled fighters. They had ended so many lives and had to be discreet about so many things. They lied, they deceived, the killed. And they both bear the burden of powers that could easily destroy them and those around them.

But it's the one thing that brings them together.

Fire and Ice. The Assassin and the Captain of the Guard.

The Elven Sentries of Valendia.

The autumn breeze sends forth sets of dried leaves and spices, and it sends Maleek's hair rippling, and the blue of his sapphire eyes sparkling.

How is it that the gods found him worthy of such a beautiful creature?

Roxas had tried so hard before to not be in love at first, and then to never love anyone again after he had lost Xion and got separated from Axel. The thought of how many people he imagined being with together forever makes him feel dirtier than a naked courtesan, but it's different . . . right? He doesn't want anyone to think that he's so desperate for love and affection that he'll be with anyone. He's not just sleeping around with anyone that offers him love; he's not desperate . . . right? All of their feelings, all of them had been true. They had been real.

He had tried. He had tried _so_ hard. He thought he could do this on his own, but he ended up losing so much along the way. After Ventus' death, Roxas had just shattered. He was a hollow shell. A broken mess; just scattered pieces of who he was.

But seeing Maleek's face, he finds everything he thought he lost before. He can come to Maleek in pieces, come undone, and he'll make sense of who Roxas is. Like puzzle pieces in his hand. He finds in Maleek what he lost in himself.

Yes – he can love Roxas; love him when he's having one of his night terrors, love him when he is a blubbering mess of snot and tears, love him when he comes undone and he can't afford to hold himself together. And Roxas can love him, with full force and love and loyalty.

"Roxas?"

Warmth immediately floods his cheeks, and his horror achieves new heights when Roxas realizes he's been staring at Maleek's mouth. He swallows, wondering or not if he should just throw himself off the balcony to end his humiliation.

"Is something wrong?" Maleek asks as he turns to the assassin.

Roxas doesn't say anything. Instead, he inches himself closer and before he knows it, he's cupped one side of Maleek's face, and leans in to connect their lips. Maleek stiffens with surprise at first, but quickly his hands finds Roxas' biceps and the assassin is pulled into his lap; his legs straddling Maleek's firm hips.

Maleek's hands rest on Roxas' lower back as Roxas holds Maleek's face and kisses him. His hair was so soft, his lips so smooth; his shoulders broad, his chest firm; every piece of him was sculpted into perfection. _Gods above and lords save him_ . . .

When they part, Maleek has a closed-lip smile on his face, and he blinks, briefly entangling those dark lashes of his. Roxas traces a finger from the top of Maleek's temple, down to the curve of his cheekbones.

Roxas kisses his forehead, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. "Can I just say thank you?" he whispers.

"For what?" Maleek purrs, his hands rubbing in circular, comforting motion on Roxas' back.

"For everything." Roxas breathes, leaning in and resting their foreheads against each other. "I was a complete mess. A gods' damned mess." Maleek chest vibrates as he chuckles. "And you, you saw past _everything_. Every line of defense I had, you broke through. I'm losing my touch."

Maleek chuckles again, and Roxas jolts when he feels a pinch on his bum. Still, he chuckles with Maleek and looks the captain in the eyes.

"And then I see your face, and I know I'm finally yours. I come to you in pieces, and you can make . . . make me whole." Roxas says, his tears spilling over. He leans back careful not to drip them on Maleek's cheeks.

Maleek tilts his head up and their lips meet again. When Roxas feels Maleek's tongue break the barrier of his lips, Roxas tightens his thighs around Maleek's lap, his arms twining around the captain's neck.

"I want to love you," he continues through the kiss. "with my very heart and soul and being, but I'm scared."

"You don't have to –"

"But I _want_ to." Roxas growls, still holding Maleek's beautiful face. "But I'm scared that I'll lose you."

"You could never lose me." Maleek breathes. Gods, his cologne is seeping into Roxas' nose, numbing everything away. He smells _divine_.

"I hope not."

"You won't." Maleek says firmly, giving Roxas' hips a firm grip. "I will be here for you."

"I've heard that before." Roxas says, sulking. He relaxes into Maleek's lap, his hands falling to the captain's chest. The black tunic he is wearing has a low enough neckline to where his collarbone and the top of his chest muscles are exposed.

"Then how can I prove it to you?" Maleek asks. There is no hate, there is no anger. It's a simple question. His rough hand caresses Roxas' cheek and the assassin leans into it, picking up the smell of steel and sweat and something sweet like chocolate.

Roxas lowers his head shamefully. "I don't know." His cheeks grow even warmer, and suddenly the jumping off the balcony idea is becoming more preferable.

Still, he hears Maleek give a breath of a laugh, and his hand turns Roxas to face him. "Well, when you figure it out, you'll let me know." Roxas is about to look down again, but Maleek takes his chin and makes Roxas look to him. "Won't you?" he repeats.

Like a little school child, Roxas nods.

Maleek smiles and they kiss again, this time his hands boldly grope Roxas' bum. Roxas groans against Maleek's mouth, lighting shooting through him as he prods Maleek's tongue with his own. Unknowingly, Roxas starts to move his hips against Maleek's and when he hears the captain moan, he smiles.

His arms twine around Maleek's neck again and his hand lays flat against his back and Roxas pushes him closer, while the other rests on the nape of Maleek's neck, their kiss deepening. They kiss each other more and more, Roxas jolting when Maleek actually smacks his bum. He gives a devious smile and bites his bottom lip.

"Are you holding back from moving your hips?" he growls with lust.

Roxas grins back like a feline and shakes his head. He pushes himself off of Maleek's lap and takes the captain's hand. They scurry inside, leaving their dinner trays and dishes.

The sun has since begun to rest on the horizon, casting everything in a blanket of blue and pink. Making the inside of Roxas' room look like the palace of an Ice Queen. The moment Roxas kicks the door shut, he pins Maleek on top of the gossamer curtains to block any guards down in the courtyards, standing at just the right angle, from seeing.

Their kissing is fiercer now, faster. Maleek's large hands cradle Roxas' torso, and one so daringly roams to his crotch. Roxas gasps, breaking their kiss then he feels Maleek start to massage the tightened spot in his pants. It caused him to angle his head back, allowing Maleek access to his neck. He grips Maleek tighter as his teeth begin to graze along the nape of his neck. He groans as Maleek's fingers travel deeper in between his groin, his knees growing limp for a moment.

"Does that feel good?" Maleek rasps, his voice deep.

Roxas nods and then he finds himself getting swooped up into Maleek's arms and carried once again to the bed. He feels the sheets and the cloud-like mattress beneath him, and he starts to scoot himself further onto the bed, Maleek crawling after him with the grace of a mountain lion. He smoothly strips off his black tunic and Roxas hands long to touch his muscled chest.

Maleek descends over him, propping up on his forearms and settling himself in between Roxas' legs. His hands burrow beneath Roxas' shirt and once he feels the tips of his fingers against his bare skin, Roxas nearly turns into a wild animal. Maleek traces up and down Roxas' abdomen with a featherlike touch, their lips never parting. Roxas allows Maleek to roll the shirt up further until it's over his head and his scarred torso is exposed.

Roxas retracts as he feels so small still compared to Maleek. He might've regained his muscles and weight, but compared to Maleek . . . he's a mere stone against a rock wall.

"Roxas." Maleek says. "Do you want me to?"

Roxas hadn't realized he shut his eyes, the back of his one hand covering his mouth. He opens his eyes and finds Maleek towering over him, the sapphire of his eyes is filled with wicked lust that makes Roxas' heart skip. Slowly, the assassin nods his head. "I am finally yours."

Maleek grins, Roxas nearly changing his mind, but the second Maleek's lips are on his neck, his tongue licking along his jawline, all doubts and second thoughts are obliterated.

Slowly he feels Maleek's hand travel down, and down until he cups Roxas' groin, erupting a gasp and moan of pleasure from the assassin. He can feel everything as Maleek's skilled fingers start to unbutton his pants and with a hard yank, both they and his underwear are gone; his soft bum cradled by the mattress. All the while, Maleek's lips trail down Roxas' neck to his collarbone, and down to Roxas' chest. Already the assassin can feel himself hardening, his body tingling and aching with sweet pleasure.

Then he feels Maleek's lip envelope his one nipple, and the other delicately pinched. Roxas yelps, immediately covering his mouth with both hands. He can feel Maleek chuckle deeply.

"You're so cute, Roxas." He growls.

Roxas would've replied, but Maleek's lips start to kiss the V-line of his hips and he ends up gripping the sheets. Their bodies start to gleam with sweat, Roxas' breathing growing fast as Maleek continues to massage his groin. And then he takes Roxas' hardened shaft into his mouth, making Roxas buck his hips. Maleek holds him down as the assassin arches his back and moans loudly.

As Maleek starts to suck, Roxas feels a sense of sadness to think that he can't give Maleek everything he has. He already had his first time with Axel, he can't take that back; and admittedly, he does have a little bit of regret about it. But maybe . . .

Roxas entangles his fingers in Maleek's soft hair, and he whimpers. "Maleek." The captain stops and looks to the assassin with a worry in his eye. Roxas tries to smile, but already he seems so drained of energy. "Enter me." He breathes.

Maleek blinks before lunging towards Roxas for a fierce kiss and he pulls back to unbuckle the belt to his own pants. He pulls his pants down enough to expose his erection, but they don't come all the way off. His large hands cup Roxas' thighs as he takes Roxas' shaft back into his mouth. As he licks and nibbles, Roxas can feel himself growing harder and harder, he tilts his head back moaning, nearly yelping when Maleek sucks the tip. He grips the sheets beneath him as he props his toes and pushes his hips up.

Maleek sucks harder and licking the tip, he smiles as he pleasures himself in hearing Roxas moan and whimper. Then he hears Maleek say, "Roxas, I'll go slow."

Roxas nods as Maleek begins to nibble on his ear, making him curl in his toes. He soon feels the throbbing warmth as Maleek enters. Thankfully Roxas' body is loose enough from all of the times he had done it with Axel, so he grew used to Maleek in a matter of a minute. Maleek takes Roxas legs and rests them on his shoulders. Roxas heart skips a beat as Maleek starts to grind his hips. Gods, the feeling was so . . . incredible. He had forgotten how much he missed this feeling.

With Roxas' consent, Maleek begins to pick up speed, his grinding becoming thrusts, and the feeling growing in the pit of Roxas' stomach. He can feel himself growing harder and harder, Maleek kissing him hungrily, urgently. Tears form in Roxas' eyes and even when they fall, he never tells Maleek to stop.

Their bodies are gleaming with sweat and they're sticking to each other, Roxas claiming as much of Maleek as Maleek is claiming Roxas. Slowly the world fades until its nothing but Roxas, nothing but Maleek. The two of them . . . here, together.

"Maleek." Roxas whimpers, barely able to catch his breath.

"That's it, Roxas. Say my name, I want to hear you say it again."

Roxas can feel himself heightening. He's going to come soon.

"Let it out, Roxas." Maleek grunts. When Roxas bites his lip, his eyes closed, Maleek chuckles. "I think you need encouragement."

Maleek slams into Roxas, and the blonde erupts into a howl of pleasure-filled screams. He can feel himself scattering into a million pieces, only to be pulled back together with slowly, erotic kisses. He empties himself, and allows Maleek to cum inside. Roxas' abdomen grows warm from his own splay of pleasure, and Maleek sexily licks it off Roxas' navel.

Their breathing is both ragged, Roxas can feel Maleek still hovering over him, not wanting to press his full weight on him. Roxas winces as Maleek slides out of him, more warmth, more tingling.

Maleek's lips press to Roxas' forehead, the blonde feeling self-conscious from the thin veil of sweat. "Roxas," Maleek says breathlessly, his voice enough rile more of that sensation out of the assassin. "Thank you."

He rolls to the side and Roxas immediately tries to move his legs, remembering how weak they had felt when he first did it with Axel. He bends his toes, stretches and retracts his legs, feeling a little heavier than usual.

"Are you okay?" Maleek asks.

Roxas manages to nod his head, his mind clouded with the smell of fatigue, happiness and Maleek's cologne. Maleek doesn't bother to retrieve his clothes; instead, he props on one arm and reaches towards the head of the bed, pulling out the thing sheet. Roxas frowns slightly as Maleek didn't even take off his pants, but he follows the wave as the sheets comes and Maleek kicks off the comforter. Despite the autumn chill, Roxas' room is hot.

Roxas manages to crawl towards his pillows while Maleek shimmies in between the mattress and the sheet. Roxas lays there as he watches Maleek take off his pants fully, exposing a firm and perfectly round bum. Roxas wanted to bite it.

When Maleek turns back and crawls into the bed, he laughs when he sees Roxas' goofy smile. "You look like you just smoked nine pipes of marijuana."

Roxas would've slapped his arm, but he doesn't think he can move even his arms anymore. Maleek lies next to him, and Roxas wriggles his way next to him, the tip of his nose near Maleek's collarbone. Roxas breathes him in so he can mark this moment. Remember the smell of Maleek's body: mixture of his cologne and sweat and little hints of his clothes.

He feels Maleek's lips press into his hair and Roxas smiles happily when he feels Maleek's arm wrap around him like a little protective cocoon. They lie there together, time seemingly passing by so quickly as the sky is already dark, almost nearing sunrise. It's astonishing how easily one can lose track of time during intercourse. Even with the time growing short, they end up doing it one, two, three more times.

A couple hours after recovery, Roxas was still half-awake, wanting to go to sleep but Maleek's sweet smell keeps him tethered to reality. But he knew Maleek was still awake, as he could feel Maleek constantly petting or stroking his head or back. The feeling nearly makes Roxas purr like a kitten.

"I love you." He hears Maleek whisper.

Roxas stiffens, but the happiness that courses through him makes him nearly giddy with the urge to bounce around the room. Still, he recovers by shifting slightly, making Maleek think he is still asleep. Roxas so badly wants to say it back – I love you, too – but why doesn't he? Is he really so tired that he can't form a simple sentence? How long have they been lying here anyway? It only feels like minutes, though Roxas knows it was probably hours.

He can feel the words clutching his throat, fighting for the way out, but the thought of having it turn into conversation makes Roxas grow quiet. He can tell him in the morning. Discreetly entangling their legs, Roxas sighs. He closes his eyes and walks into the Land of Dreams with open arms.

The next morning, when he blinks his eyes open, the light has shifted from crystalline blue to sheer white, brightening the entire chamber. Roxas stretches his arms and – wait, he can stretch? Roxas jerks his head to the side and finds the side next to him vacant. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he looks all around and finds the room still. Groaning from the effort, Roxas rolls to the edge of the bed and looks to the floor. His clothes have been draped over a nearby chair and Maleek's clothes are all gone.

He plops himself back down and sighs, thumping his fist into the pillow. Gods damn it. He must've had an early morning meeting or something. Roxas almost feels a little guilty keeping him here all night, but not really.

Last night . . . gods, it was the most incredible thing he's ever experienced. Ever. Axel was good, but Maleek was . . . Oh, gods. Could it be because he was Elven? Roxas laughs to himself. He sits back up in his bed, moving his legs to make sure he can actually still use them. To further prove himself, Roxas rolls to the edge of the bed and sets his feet on the ground. Applying his full weight, his knees quake slightly but he manages to stand instead of collapsing to the ground.

His bum hurts slightly, and he debates on whether or not to speak to his servants to bring a lubricant. Not wanting to spread rumors so quickly, Roxas settles on cleaning it with soft soap for now and a cooling ointment. Since it's after dawn, and since he knew Maleek is busy, he skips his run for the day. After his morning bath, he pulls on a long-sleeve pin green tunic and some brown pants. He fetches some slippers since the chill of the morning is starting to make the tiles beyond freezing.

Seated at his table, he fills his plate with something from every sampler spread before him. A servant pours him a glass of tea, and Roxas thanks her and asks for a cup of milk. As he pops a deliciously soft pancake with chocolate chips in his mouth, he looks out the window and finds the trees have become a gorgeous vary of red, yellow and orange. They spread around the city, making the green-tiled roofs pop even more. A majority of them have already started to fall, some poor saps left with raking them off the streets and sidewalks.

He wonders what he'll do today. No doubt the Grand Duke Kadaj's party will be his priority as he remembers Queen Rydia mentioning that they'll be going shopping for something for Roxas to wear. Why he couldn't wear his armor is questionable, not like he's much to show off for the Queen. However since he's still under the alias of Tobias Cordano, perhaps he could go without the clunky pieces of metal.

Roxas is already halfway through his breakfast when there's a knock on his door. He goes to get up, but a servant girl motions him to sit as she scurries over down the steps. He hears the door open, some idle chatter and then a thank you and the door closes. Another servant girl refills his cup of tea as the other comes back up the steps. She has a smile on her face as she holds a gold-colored envelope in her hands, a royal seal binding it shut. She hands it to Roxas.

"Thank you." He smiles.

He pushes his plate forward to make room as he opens the letter and reveals Queen Rydia's elegant cursive handwriting.

 _I hope you didn't have any plans today, because we are spending the day finding something for you to wear. However, I hope you also understand that my opinion is what will be the one that decides what you wear, as I am the one paying for it. The discussion is not up for debate, my decision is final._

 _Now, I shall hope to see you in the entrance hall by ten o'clock today. We shall depart for the city and dabble you in a little pampering. Well deserved, I might add._

 _Hope to see you soon._

 _Rydia_

Roxas groans as he sets down the letter and continues finishing off his stack of pancakes. Queen Rydia is offering to pay for his attire for the party, but it's going to be extremely expensive. No doubt he'll have to pay her back, and that could add another two three years to his deal on being the King's Champion. Even if the salary is good, paying back the Queen of Valendia, that's a slave service in itself?

Sighing as he finishes his cup of tea, Roxas fetches a deep red cloak with a gold clasp, some knee-high brown leather boots, a gathering of daggers, Oblivion, and heads down to the grand foyer of the castle.

He waits no longer than five minutes when Queen Rydia comes down the steps, clad in a gorgeous ice-blue gown and a white fur cloak. However, what he didn't expect was to see the members of The Thirteen following in tow. Roxas raises his eyebrows as he sees Maleek, but he's more focused on making sure his cheeks don't give him away. The captain smiles as he sees the assassin. The entire coven comes down both sides of the grand staircase, some dressed in casual clothing, others still wearing their armor that demands respect and power.

And _everyone_ is here.

The twins, Vincent and Edge all wear their armor with their weapons strapped firm, but Laguna is dressed in a medium blue jacket with white studs and grooves, a white undershirt with a low neckline, brown pants, black boots and dog tags. Seymour has a simple change of robes, but he keeps his weapon strapped to his back. And Kuja has changed entirely that Roxas had to do a double take to make sure he was the same person.

Kuja's hair is purple with hints of white and topped by a large, black tricornered hat. He wears an elaborate outfit consisting of a lacy cropped top with frilled sleeves, a gold bolero jacket with buckled sleeves and a black collar, and leggings in purple, white, and mauve tones. The piece covering his legs is gold and splits in the back like the tails of a tuxedo jacket. He wears pointed-toe gold shoes.

Roxas' eyebrows rise as he beholds the elven warrior. Kuja smiles. "Impressed?"

"Baffled and bewildered is more like it, but impressed is somewhere in there." Roxas says with a grin. Kuja keeps his smile but gives a tentative toss of his hair over his shoulder as he brushes past the assassin.

Roxas bows as Queen Rydia approaches. "Good Morning, Your Majesty."

"As to you Roxas." She says with a slow nod of her head. "I sure hope you're excited!" she says with excited little jumps.

"I am." Roxas says with a tight smile.

Queen Rydia's own falls slightly and her eyebrows furrow in worry. "Is something on your mind?" she asks.

"Oh, well, it's just I was wondering if we could go shopping somewhere less expensive." Roxas says. The Queen gives a perplexed expression and Roxas clears his throat. "It's just, I got your letter and I don't wish for you to spend so much money on an item that I'm not going to wear more than once." The Queen is silent. "I just . . . if I'm going to pay you back, then –"

Queen Rydia's expression softens and she holds up a dainty, pale hand. Her golden lattice hand chain glitters in the light. The chains link and crisscross into a stunning statement between chain rings on the top and sides before linking to a cuff that encircles her entire forearm. Roxas ceases speaking immediately. "Roxas, you do not have to pay me back. It is a gift."

"For what?" Roxas asks.

Queen Rydia shrugs. "Just because."

"Oh well that just instills me with confidence." Roxas says.

Suddenly the sound of the Galtea language reaches him and Roxas turns his head to find Kiros walking down the stairs, bickering with his guards as they follow. He wears a spectacular layered tunic the color of the sand along the Galtea shoreline with intricate gold embroidery along the collar line and the cuffs of the sleeves, close-fit pants and brown knee-high boots. The bangles around his wrists and the gathering of gold and beaded necklaces around his neck clink and sway as he steps walks. The prince meets Roxas' stare and lifts his chin in encouragement, smiling. Small gold droplets dangle from his ears.

"Kiros." Roxas blurts without thinking, and his feet are already moving towards the prince who opens his arms. Roxas walks into them smiling, chuckling. "What are you doing?"

"I'm joining you on the trip to the market." The prince replies.

Roxas' eyes widen in surprise and it's then he finds one of Kiros' guards with a thick green velvet cloak draped over his arm. Roxas turns to the Queen who merely smiles. The Thirteen however have the same surprised expression as the assassin. It's clear that the news wasn't presented to his guards either, or their just very against. Roxas turns back to the prince. "Why, might I ask?" Roxas says in Galtea.

Kiros cocks his head and sets a hand on his hip. "I am the Prince of Galtea." He says, lifting his chin. "I can go wherever I please."

"Not if it's in the continent closest to your enemy." Roxas says, his tone hushed.

"Luminos," he continues in the Galtea tongue; the name the prince had personally given Roxas makes the assassin struggle to stay serious. "I will be traveling with my guards, as well as the Queen, and including you and the elven coven. I shall be fine. And no one would dare try to cross Valendia's borders. In doing so, they are basically leaving behind the mortal world altogether." The prince then scans his eyes over the assassin's body. "Which reminds me, why aren't you in your true form?"

"My _true_ form?"

"Of course, your elven self." The prince says as he takes Roxas' hands.

"Well, I guess –"

Someone clears their throat. Both the assassin and the prince turn and find Maleek with his arms crossed and all eyes of the coven upon them. Queen Rydia however is letting her servants of the castle fidget and adjust the skirts of her dress and the cape of her cloak.

"Why is he here?" Maleek asks.

Roxas shrugs. "He says that the Queen invited him to the market with us."

Roxas bites his lips as Maleek turns to the Queen and starts a hushed conversation. The Queen quickly lifts her white-gloved hand, but Maleek continues his argument. Laguna comes forth and Kiros brushes past Roxas to clap the man with a hug. Laguna speaks in Galtea, making Roxas' stomach clench, but from the way he stumbles through the simple sentence, and from the way Prince Kiros laughs at his pronunciation, he probably barely understood their conversation.

As Kiros speaks to Laguna, showing off his skills in the common language, Roxas takes the moment to shift. His skin stretches and his teeth grow.

The hushed whispers of the Queen and Maleek reaches his ears, but he hears her hiss something at Maleek and he sighs in defeat. The Queen pats Maleek's shoulder and approaches the prince, but stays a still safe distance away. "Your Majesty, are you ready?" she says with a slight curtsey.

Prince Kiros only deigns to give her a terse nod. "I am." His says, his Galtea accent still rather thick. He then links arms with Roxas, who has wide eyes, but quickly clears his throat. "Shall we?" says Kiros.

The Queen gives a raise of her eyebrows, making Roxas assume she wanted to be on his arm, but she then smiles and turns, her cloak and the skirts of her gown blooming around her. The guards first follow her, then it's the members of The Thirteen, and then Roxas and Kiros surrounded by their guards. While he would love to be beside Maleek, no doubt he wants to keep their relationship a secret. Besides, he will love talking to Kiros throughout their shopping. This way he can get an honest opinion on the outfits that are picked for him.

Taking carriage rides into the town, Roxas is left in awe as he beholds the entire scenery spread with the beautiful blazing colors of the trees mixed in with the green tilted roofs. The entire town is prepping for Samhain as there are pumpkins stacked in little piles outside shops, in front of signs to churches and halls, and stacks of hay set around parks. Many leaves have fallen along the sidewalks that now crunch underfoot. Off in the distance, along the horizon of the town, the snow tipped mountains stand guard. With the bright autumn colors against the clear blue sky, the town is as vibrant this afternoon as it was at the height of summer.

There's a chilly wind that blows through the streets, stirring up the leaves and blowing out the Queen's dress as well as The Thirteen's cloaks. Of course the moment that they exited the carriage, or perhaps they entered the main streets, heads turned and mouths dropped and eyes widened. Many citizens bowed as the Queen passed, practically clearing off the sidewalk as she passed them by. Members of The Thirteen surround Roxas, Kiros and the Queen, then it's Kiros' guards bringing up the rear.

Roxas and Kiros were probably the second most watched of the bunch. He keeps close to the prince as they walk, the Galtea prince weaving through the crowd with a kind of casual grace that Roxas, despite himself, envied. As they walk down the crowded avenue, Roxas keeps up with group no matter how many people were shoved into his path, or stepped in his path, or cursed him for stepping in theirs, Roxas doesn't falter, and his boyish grin growing. Many people stop to stare at the pair. Roxas with his golden hair and turquoise eyes, but he takes in stride. And then there's Kiros, the Prince of Galtea, even when herded by the walls of bodies, can still be seen by the citizens. Not many of them bow as he passes, and Roxas almost hisses at them, but Kiros keeps his arm linked with the assassin and seems unbothered. Even when he's not formally dressed in his Galtea clothes, he is still stunning.

They make it to the square of the marketplace, and a large fountain with that phoenix bird poised on the top is flowing with crystal clear water. The bird has its wings spread wide and it balances on its tail as water flows down around it. There are small holes in the ground and Roxas watches as children run and scream with glee as spouts of water shoot out like little geysers.

The Queen takes a few steps forward and turns to face the group, clapping her hands together. "Okay Tobias," she says with a wink. Kiros chuckles and Roxas almost rolls his eyes. "Let's just start with some of my favorite shops, which I have a long line of credit with, and we'll start looking for something for you." She smiles.

Roxas returns only half of it, still he did feel genuinely excited for this. "Are we following a certain theme?"

"Not that I know of. But it doesn't matter. You are going to be stunning!" the Queen bounces with glee. "Now, let's see if my favorite stylist can fit you in today."

"Stylist?"

"To fix you up. You can't walk into the party like that." Queen Rydia gestures.

Roxas looks down at his nails and fidgets with his hair. His cuticles are shredded and his nails are jagged. He looks to the Queen and shrugs. "Well it's not like they'll be looking at me, all night."

"Ah-ha, very clever, Sir Tobias, but it's not going to work. It's all about being presentable. Besides, don't' you dare tell me that you don't want a little bit of pampering." She winks. Roxas opens his mouth to argue, but as if on cue, some of the pains in his lower back and the callus of his feet start to become a nuisance. He closes his mouth and casts his gaze downward.

Roxas chuckles as he shakes his head. "Who am I to decline a little bit of pampering?"

The group of men chuckle and the Queen claps her hands again and they are once again following her. The heads of The Thirteen and Kiros' guards are constantly turning left and right and eyeing the rooftops.

The excitement inside Roxas bubbles like a volcano when he beholds the glorious marketplace of Valendia. Given they are the largest region in the continent of Ivalice, they have vendors from all the kingdoms on the continent – and beyond. The shops range from spices from Romanda, to jewels and clothes from Ivalice; from food of Ordallia, to weapons and bags from Galtea, and a variety of books from the Deist Isles. Many are displayed on mannequins or stacked up on boxes or set on podiums or lined in wooden crates. When they reach the plaza area, the shops disappear and shrink down into shaded tables with merchandise spread across blankets or whicker placemats, and strings of lanterns swoop from streetlamp to streetlamp, glittering like stars.

When they passed under the striped awning of a vendor from Galtea, the assassin and the prince both seemed to walk in unison towards the table when they caught a whiff of the food that smelled divine. Roxas chuckled when he beheld the childish smile on the prince's face, but it was nothing compared to the vendor's face when he beheld the prince and the elven warrior approaching. The prince's guards follow with small smiles as well.

"Your Majesty." The man says as he presses his hands together in prayer position and bows to the prince. "Bless the gods, it is an honor."

Kiros gives a nod and a smile to the man. The vendor extends out his hands and the prince lets the man grasp his. The vendor kisses the back of Kiros' hand and mumbles something like a prayer of thanks in Galtea. Kiros chuckles and sets his free hand on top of the vendor's, mumbling something in reply. The man's smile and expression of envy would make others think he won the largest bag of gold in the world.

"Oh my goodness," Kiros breathes in astonishment, keeping to his Galtea tongue. He sets a hand on his chest. "You have all of my favorite sweets. Oh this will not be good."

"Well, it might be good for me." The vendor winks.

Kiros takes a toothpick and stabs it into a pink prawn sprinkled with spices and dips it into a red sauce and holds it to Roxas. "Try it." He smiles.

"What is it?" Roxas says, taking the small crustacean. Whatever it was, it smells incredible. Roxas' stomach calling for that taste to be on his tongue, now.

"Karkalec." The prince says. "It's a Galtea appetizer."

Roxas smells the prawn one more time before popping it into his mouth and – gods, that tasted positively astounding! The shrimp explodes into a juice of something spice with lemon, and the salt and pepper sprinkle make his taste buds tingle. Roxas knows his face gave away his feelings as he hears Kiros laugh. "Wow." Roxas breathes. "That's is incredible!"

Kiros laughs some more as he turns to the man, ordering two plates of the prawn fish. The prince then makes Roxas taste a dessert that consists of a rich vanilla custard base topped with a contrasting layer of hard caramel. Roxas thinks the prince would've stuffed him with every meal the vendor had if not for Maleek calling to them. Kiros orders more food from the man, of which his guards carry, and before they depart, Kiros and the vendor brush kisses on the cheeks.

They all followed the Queen wordlessly, some members like Kuja and Laguna making conversation among the group. Roxas holds a bag of Galtea candy while Kiros nibbles on a cabob of those prawn fish. This time they were grilled and fried to give them a golden brown, crusty outside.

When they finally reach the Queen's favorite beauty shop, the moment she walks through the door, the shop fills with squeals of excitement. Apparently, Queen Rydia sent a messenger ahead to rent out the entire shop. As they each file in, Roxas steps closer to Kiros as he beholds the flamboyant trio of stylists that brush kisses with the queen. He nearly cowers behind the prince when the Queen introduces him.

The three stylists look to him, eyes widening, smiles broadening and hands fanning themselves from the excitement. Someone from behind, possibly Edge, pushes Roxas forward and he stumbles into the throng of colorful hair and long, fake nails. Roxas nearly snarls when the nails pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair and feel his arms.

"Oh my goodness gracious, feel his muscles!" says one plump woman dressed in a gown of cobalt and peach. Her hair is short and pulled back by a red headband and falls in a ponytail of ringlets.

"Never mind his muscles, would you look at his eyes! You could almost be related to the King!" says another woman, this one lean and tall with her hair cut into a style that would suit a woodland pixie. A crown of flowers encircles her head, the white petals making her night black hair stand out even more.

"And this hair!" says the third, an older woman. Old enough to have wrinkled, knuckled hands and crow's feet by the corners of her eyes. Her hair is a pale grey, kept under control by a ruffled bonnet. "You can never find such gold except from the mineral or even the sun itself!"

Roxas forces himself to smile sweetly as he hears the snickers of the prince and of The Thirteen behind him. Then the women's attention is brought to Kiros, and they immediately swarm to him like bees. Kiros doesn't swat them off, his guards don't bother them; instead, he gives his best smile and speaks to the women in Galtea. He doesn't look to Roxas for translation, as he speaks to them in the common tongue, mimicking a small child learning his first words. The ladies awe and sigh at his accent, his dark toned skin making him even more attractive.

"Ladies," Queen Rydia claps. The three women turn to her and stand tall like dogs. "I'm going to trust you with Tobias. I don't want him completely different, just . . . presentable by royal standards."

"Of course, My Lady." Bows the plump woman. "You have nothing to worry about!"

"And what are we supposed to do?" Edge asks. "Just sit on our asses and watch them pamper him?"

"You're free to roam if you please, but I need to stay to make sure he is to my liking." says Queen Rydia. "Meet us back by the fountain in . . . one, two hours?"

With that, the members whisk away, leaving behind Kiros, Maleek and the Queen. Roxas is suddenly swooped towards the back of the shop and literally stripped of all of his clothes.

"Tobias." One woman suddenly says, her voice as quiet and as frightened as a child.

All at once, it's like the commotion was sucked away, and things are dead silent. The women are as quiet as the grave, and they've halted everything they're doing. Roxas hears their breath catch and they gasp heavily. Loud enough that he turns to them. Their eyes are wide, possibly even gleaming with tears and they each cover their mouths in horror. But their eyes aren't on his face, or the water. They are on his back.

His back. A chill runs through Roxas, but he keeps his face neutral.

With nothing but a small towel wrapped around his waist, they can see the whole expanse of ruined flesh, each scar from the lashings.

"Who did that to you?" the lean and tall woman asks, her voice quivering.

It would've been so easy to lie, but the four clawmark-like scars that trail down his back seem to burn at the thought. So Roxas says, "A lot of people." He folds in his lips, but then he says, "I spent some time in the Mineral Mines of Gollund."

They were each so still that Roxas wondered if they each stopped breathing. "How long?" the plump woman asks.

He shouldn't talk about it. He can't afford to talk about it. But if his knowledge is correct: no one knows who Roxas Skyes looks like, and they only know that he was sent off to the mines for a lifetime. So far, no one knows that he is out.

So Roxas answers, "A year."

"You were a slave." whimpers the last woman.

Roxas gives them a slow nod. They each open their mouths, but they close it and swallow. Realizing he is still in his elven form, Roxas can only imagine what the omen must be thing. An Elven young man, sent to a death camp.

Pity, sorrow and sadness fill their pretty little eyes. Imagine what they would do if they knew who they were really going to pamper.

"Oh, you poor thi –"

Roxas shakes his head as he turns away from the women. "Some things are better left in the past."

After a moment of silence, one of the women clears her throat. "Of course, of course." She coughs a couple times as she passes Roxas. "This way, please."

He is guided by the women through a door and into a larger chamber he didn't think was a part of the shop. Inside, there's a small set of stairs that lead up to a large square tub with a trickling of water coming from the ceiling and bordered by cream tiles. The water of the tub is cloudy with an oil that nearly makes Roxas slip as he steps down into the tub. Around the tub are chair that are curved to be lying down with fluffy pillows and chair that surround the chairs. Lily flowers float on top, following the ripples of the water. Towels are hanging on the thick columns and some are wrapped in rolls stacked on top of one another.

The warmth of the water swallows him and they delicately place a neck pillow behind his head. As they let his body soak, two of the women nestle on either side of him and begin to file his nails into uniform shapes, and massage his hands with a lavender smelling lotion. Then the time comes for them to scrub down his body with a gritty foam, but they seem hesitant.

After Roxas insists that they aren't going to hurt him, they nearly scrub away not only dirt, three layers of his skin. His back is given a deep tissue massage that nearly makes the assassin groan with pleasure, then they take a thin thread and begin shaping his eyebrows and trimming his gold hair. His face is smeared with a green cream that smells of cucumber and melons, and slices of the cucumber are placed on his eyes. One of the women sets a retainer into his mouth filled with a cream that's supposed to make his teeth whiter. All the while, he can hear the music of a harpist in the background.

By the end of it, his skin feels tingling but smooth and he's greased down with a lotion that leaves him skin feeling like polished marble. He feels cleaner, he smells like a fresh fruit salad and it does feel as if all of the oils and dirt and grease has been extracted from his body.

Roxas stands there, completely naked as the three women step back and smile to each other. "Excellent!" says one.

"Gosh, you just keep getting handsomer and handsomer!" chimes another.

He smiles sweetly again as they give back his clothes and escort him out to the main room. When they emerge, all heads turn to them, and Roxas must look as clean and refreshed as he feels, because everyone's eyes get bigger and the Queen places her palms to her cheeks as she gazes in awe. Roxas looks to one of the mirrors of the hair stylists and is just as surprised.

He is now flushed with color, his eyes bright even though he can still see a clouded barrier inside them. And though he regained the weight he'd lost in the winter, his face is leaner.

Kiros is the first to approach him, and he smiles gently to the assassin. "You almost look human now." Roxas laughs and smiles to the prince.

Maleek is next, but he merely stares at Roxas; and the assassin can see a bit of longing, love, pride, and a bit of lust in the captain's eyes. Roxas' cheeks flush with color.

"Beautiful." Rydia's voice speaks. Roxas look to find the Elven Queen seated in a wicker chair with peacock feathers fanning out like the tail of the bird itself. She rises from the seat and approaches the assassin. Her delicate fingers touch Roxas' chin as lightly as a moth. "You look, beautiful." She smiles.

Roxas returns the smile and nods his head. After they pay and thank the three women, they leave the beauty salon and meet the rest of the members at the fountain as promised. They then spend the next two hours wandering from shop to shop. The Queen was going to wear a dress varying in the sea-green to midnight-blue sector, and wanted something to colorfully contrast that. They went to the best boutiques and tailors for it, and she had Roxas try on suit after suit, jacket after jacket. One royal jacket that was in a mango-orange with gold etiquettes and had red pants with a gold stripe, a golden belt, black boots and white opera gloves. It seemed fitting, but Queen Rydia denied it.

There was another attire that consisted of a style adopted from Agrabah. Roxas giggled to himself at the curled-toe shoes on his feet. They did look nice, the emerald silk thread embroidered on the show would defiantly make it stand out. But again, Queen Rydia didn't like them. Kiros even offered Roxas a couple of outfits designed for Galtea royalty, and truthfully, they were his favorites, as they were just simple colors of the earth with many intricate accessories and detailed whorls of thread. By the end, Queen Rydia finally settled on "the perfect outfit for him", although Roxas wasn't sure if it was meant for him . . . or for a very successful courtesan.

They decide to finish their day in the city by going to Deep Blue – the tea court where only the most elite and most important nobles and patronesses dined. As usual, there is a crowd gathered outside, fine carriage loitering the streets with people hopping in and out. The doors are under an archway of stone and glass, with a large viewing window to show off the exquisite chandelier dangling from inside. Green vines and flowers wrap around the thick columns supporting the awning above.

Entry to Deep Blue requires a hard-to-attain membership; Roxas feeling more than spoiled as he walks in with the Queen of Valendia and the Prince of Galtea on his arms, but also surrounded by the members of The Thirteen. Queen Rydia releases him as she goes to speak to the hostess. Everyone bowing and gasping and stepping aside as she glides her way through the throng. As Roxas stands next to Kiros, the prince admiring the décor of the place, a hand pats his shoulder.

Roxas turns to find Maleek leaning close to his ear. "So, when do you think we'll see your attire?"

Unfortunately, or maybe not, Queen Rydia is the only one who saw Roxas outfit for Grand Duke Kadaj's party. Roxas bites his bottom lip, giving Maleeka coy smile. "I was ordered to keep it quiet." He really wasn't, but messing with Maleek right now is too sweet to pass up.

"I don't know if I should be seduced or worried."

"It depends on your way of thinking." Roxas winks.

"You dirty bastard." Maleek growls with seduction. Roxas nearly yelling when he feels a pinch on his bum.

Finally the doors open for them, and Queen Rydia calls to the warriors to move. Roxas can't help but smile as they pass the long line of people waiting to get in. And with the Prince of Galtea on his arm and the Queen of Valendia hosting, he finds himself walking with square shoulders and chin high.

Roxas makes small, useless talk with Kiros, speaking in Galtea and earning them more shocked looks. He guides Kiros with expert skill, escorting him up the steps, up, up, until –

"Oomph!" he cries, slamming into a broad, muscled shoulder. Maleek even pulls Roxas to him, a supporting hand on Roxas' back to keep him from toppling down the steps. "Oh, excuse me, I am so sorry –" Roxas starts as he pats his pants and wipes his sleeves.

But then, " _Roxas_."

The assassin stiffens.

Just like that, the world seems to stop. Everything swells and shrinks towards him. That fast, the world slips, swallowed up by the sudden pounding of his heart. His body grows numb instantly and a cold chill tickles up his spine like flower petals.

Slowly, Roxas looks up through his lashes, and then –

A blink, two blinks.

The exquisite face gaping at him is etched with surprise, relief, sorrow and longing. The emerald green of the eyes immediately gleam almost spilling over onto the upside down teardrop tattoo underneath them.

Roxas' breath leaves his lungs as fast as if he had fallen from ten feet high onto his back. Maleek's hand presses harder as he thinks he might've faltered.

Roxas didn't think until this day, until this moment, that he still thought of this man as the most beautiful man Roxas has ever seen. Not handsome – _beautiful_. His hair glows crimson in the height of autumn, and his green eyes . . .

 _Gods above and Lords save me_.

His mouth is a work of art, too, all sensual lines and softness that begs to be explored once again.

"Axel."


	48. Chapter 21 (Part Two)

The first thing that registered was that Axel had said his name out loud. His heart practically stopped, but with the many people filing in and out of the Deep Blue, no one seemed to notice or even care. The second thing was that he was in his Elven form, surrounded with other warriors, Prince Kiros' guards, and the Queen of Valendia just a few steps ahead. Roxas finds himself staring around him rather than directly at the red-head captain in front of him. He can still feel Maleek's hand pressed to his back, the warmth nearly becoming like a burn.

Movement from behind Axel draws his attention, and Roxas' heart stops again when he beholds Reno, dressed in a suit that would be casual on a normal day, but with the shirt tucked in and the expensive looking watch around his wrist, it fits in with the Deep Blue perfectly. Their eyes meet and Reno's widen along with his eyebrows rising. Roxas feels his throat tighten.

" _Roxas_!" A voice squeals, this time, this one earned a couple of glances, but Roxas is thankful when he hears someone cough loudly to counter it. But it wasn't enough. The next thing he knew, thin arms coil around his neck, and a familiar lean-muscled body presses against him. The brown spikes of his hair are the only giveaway that makes Roxas wrap one arm around the servant boy while still trying to keep his balance.

Sora immediately pulls back, his eyes gleaming with tears ready to spill over, his mouth quivering as if his words are fighting to be the first ones out. People around them click their tongues and sigh impatiently as they walk around the gathering group.

"Sora." Roxas whispers, staring in a daze at Sora.

"Roxa –" Axel starts.

"We should get off the steps!" Roxas abruptly barks, harshly gripping Axel's forearm and hauling him off. He gestures to the street below them as he takes Sora's hand in his other one.

Axel doesn't say anything as they walk beside the assassin. Gods, he was in his Elven form. His ears are pointed, his teeth are sharp.

But he looks _incredible_! He looks so far past what Axel had mentally prepared himself for, that he nearly burst into tears at the sight of Roxas. He expected to see Roxas gravely thin with shackles around his wrist and ankles, his face gaunt and haunted with grime and dirt and blood covering his skin that would've been deathly pale from the lack of sun.

Yet whatever cruelty the labor of the mines had done to him and his body, it's nearly gone. Axel can only tell that Roxas must've looked bad because he seems thinner than when he had last seen the assassin. But his skin is gloriously tan, as if he'd spent the last two months lying on the beaches of the Naldoan Sea.

Even with his lean muscles now, he still has _muscles_ ; and his hair still holds its golden sheen, his eyes that same beautiful turquoise with the ring of gold. He's taller too, by a couple inches. He wears a simple pine-green tunic, delicate gold detailing around the collar line and cuffs of the long sleeves, then it's a thick red cloak clasped to his shoulders. None of it _screams_ wealth, but the appeal is defiantly ruggedly masculine.

They make it to the bottom and away from the crowd and then Sora envelopes the assassin once again in a hug. Normally, Roxas would embrace the servant boy, crying with him at the sight of seeing him again, but this time, Roxas is hesitant, wrapping only one arm around him and patting his back.

Even with them being a few steps away from the busy crowd, Sora begins into babble, but thankfully keeping his voice hushed. "Oh my gods, Roxas, how we have missed you! What are you doing here?! I – I thought you – how did you get out? I just . . ."

Roxas hushes the boy. " _Quiet, Sora_!" his voice comes out cold as he seethes through those fangs of his. Sora immediately takes two steps back, baffled. Roxas sighs and presses his hand to his forehead. "Look, you can't say my name out loud. Not here." He says more controlled.

"Why –" Sora whimpers.

"It's a long story." Roxas interjects with his hand up. "But I don't have a lot of time right now."

"Rox . . ." Axel stops himself and clears his throat. "Please." He takes a step closer to the assassin wanting so badly to kiss him again, to feel that hair in between his fingers, to feel Roxas' tongue against his own.

"Look, I – I really don't know what to say I . . ." he stops when he sees more movement and someone moves out from behind Reno and –

Gods, it's Vanitas.

Immediately, Roxas' lip contorts and apparently the growl he felt vibrate his throat was loud enough that their eyes widened and heads turned.

But at the same time, goodness, he looked so _different_ that Roxas could feel pity burrow in his heart. Vanitas' skin has grown as pale as a corpse, signaling he didn't get much sun in the year that's past. He's practically hiding behind Reno, a cloak of ebony black around his shoulders. His hair looks frizzled, that sheen that it's always had is now gone, along with that liveliness and mischief in his eyes. There are purple bags under his ember-gold eyes, saying that he had many restless nights. And, by the holy gods, are those scars, on his wrists . . .? He doesn't say anything, staying sheltered behind Roxas as if preparing for the Elven assassin to rip his throat out.

He looks so small, tiny, and fragile. Almost the same as Roxas had been after he killed Ventus. It's, so saddening. Vanitas has always been the rock of everything. He listened when Roxas was having mixed feelings about Axel and his men, he was always there to have Roxas' back on missions, he was strong when Roxas was near dead after facing against his mother. He was there for Roxas when he was in that depressive slump in Lesalia. To see him so . . . broken . . .

All at once, Roxas' eyes water, he blinks them away and sniffles.

He understands. He _knows_ what has happened to Vanitas. Regret and grief have devoured him. It has to be from that faithful day in Knave's Bay, it has to be. Where Roxas thought there would be cruelty and vengeance, the urge to choke and maul Vanitas – there is, instead, sorrow and pity. But that can only mean that . . . he didn't betray Roxas willingly, and that someone had told him to but –

"Roxas." Vanitas says, his voice quiet and hoarse from misuse. Vanitas' body is shaking with urgency and anticipation. He wants to hug Roxas, and the assassin knew this, he wants to hug him, hold him just like everyone else, but this isn't the time. Not while he has the entire coven, the Queen and the Prince of Galtea on his arms. He needs to make this quick and understandable.

"My name is Tobias Cordano." Roxas whispers. "I am here training with The Thirteen, and I am currently on a lunch meeting with the _Queen of Valendia_ and the –"

"Excuse us." A voice chimes. Relief and nausea fill Roxas. As he looks over his shoulder.

Everyone's eyes follow and they widen in astonishment, Axel and Sora taking a few steps back.

Axel watches, baffled as two of the most beautiful and powerful men he has ever seen, come up and stand on either side of Roxas. They are the definition of dark and light, as their armor is so contrasting. The one in the dark armor wears a helmet, so Axel can't see his features, but the other in white armor has pale skin, flowing white hair that hides all but the tips of his pointed ears and an ominous looking sword strapped to his waist. He extends out a hand. "Sorry to interrupt, we were just curious of all of the commotion." He smiles, his fangs gleaming. "I'm Cecil Harvey, this is my brother, Kain." The dark armored man gives a terse nod. "Nice to meet you."

To everyone's surprise, Sora is the one who accepts the elven male's hand. But the firm handshake makes him cringe.

"I sure hope our friend Tobias isn't causing any trouble." Cecil says, clapping a hand on the assassin's shoulder. Roxas looks mortified, but at the same time, he doesn't dismiss the two males.

"No, not at all." Reno answers. The two males' heads turn and small smiles cross their lips.

"Reno." Kain says, his voice so deep but so smooth. "Good to see you." The two males exchange a handshake and a clap on the back. "How're things?"

"Good, good." Reno says with a nod.

Who were these men? Axel remembers Reno talking about how he has close dealings with the King and his men, but he mentioned _nothing_ about the members of the coven The Thirteen. And now Roxas is a part of them?!

Axel tries to think: they had to have been the ones that pulled Roxas from Gollund Mines, and now he's training with them . . . probably because it's either this or he gets sent back. But why would they pick him of all people – unless one of Reno's letters finally reached the king. But still, the king could've chosen to leave the assassin in the mines. And why hasn't Roxas tried to escape? It's all very confusing, and Roxas isn't giving them any details. He doesn't even look happy to see any of them! He's just standing there, nervously as he constantly looks around.

Axel understands, he's probably scared of everything falling apart and it could be their fault he gets sent back to the mines. But again, why fish him out? With Roxas' reputation, he had thought that they would've left him there to rot. But needless to say, Axel isn't grateful. It must have something to do with that alias name, Tobias. Ironic, or maybe not, how he's now using the name of his mother's ancestor.

But Axel still would've thought that Roxas would've kissed him, cried to him, embraced him even. Instead, he stays a too-safe distance from Axel.

They had come to Valendia after Axel had practically sprinted back home on horseback to the mansion, burst into Vanitas' room and blurted what he had heard at the bar. Even Axel was surprised when Vanitas was the first person he had gone to; perhaps it was the feeling of sorrow he had felt towards the assassin. Even after he had failed to save Roxas, seeing the boy attempting suicide and self-harm, he needed to hear it. Just a couple days later, the two of them were packing up their things to travel to Valendia.

Reno had tried over and over to convince them that it was just a rumor, a hoax, but Axel just knew that it had to be Roxas. He had hoped that maybe Roxas had somehow escaped Gollund Mines and was now just wandering around. But Reno was persistent on telling them to calm down and to think it though.

Knowing he couldn't stop either of them, Reno's only compromise was that he come along and Sora as well. Axel agreed. Even if it the whole thing had been a disappointment, at least they would be _in_ Valendia, where Roxas was rumored to have been.

They had gone to the Deep Blue for lunch after an unsuccessful venture into town to ask about the rumors of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy dressed in black. After their lunch, they planned on scoping out The Graylands, but now . . . Here he is.

As Reno makes small talk with the two intimidating warriors, a third comes up and Axel's heart sinks. With the purple tunic and grey pants, he didn't recognize him at first, but the closer he got, the more he could see that sandy-gold hair, those sapphire eye and the tips of his ornate tattoo around his collarbone.

Maleek.

Axel's blood runs cold and he can sense everyone stiffening next to him.

 _None_ of them had seen the Faceless Assassin since they had run from the streets of Twilight Town, Vanitas clutching a bloodied Roxas in his arms, and the sounds of Maleek's death howl as they thought Tifa had killed him. Yet now, here he stands adorned in the armor of Valendia's Royal Guard. And his ears –

Maleek is Elven, too! His features sharper, his walk more graceful, smoother, set with an insufferable swagger that makes Axel almost want to punch those sharpened teeth down the male's throat.

He sure has a _lot_ of explaining to do! _If_ Axel ever gets the chance to get him alone.

Axel watches wearily as he comes up to Roxas' side and takes the assassin's elbow. The protective gesture makes Axel's stomach twist. Even more so when Roxas takes a step closer to Maleek, nearly pressing himself against his side. Gods – was he really nervous?

The dark male in armor, Kain, looks over and smiles. "I presume you've met our Captain of the Valendia Guard?"

 _Captain_! _Of the Royal Guard_! But, do they even know about him being an assassin?! How recent was this!? It's enough to make Axel's head spin.

Maleek doesn't smile, merely lifts his chin towards the group. Axel's hands fist at his sides.

Roxas leans closer to Maleek, watching Axel as he can see the confusion and frustration build. Roxas can just see all of the secrets and plots and deception spill before him like the sudden burst of a dam. Everyone looked so confused by everything, and so intimidated with the members of The Thirteen crowding around them. Seymour, Edge, Kuja and Vincent are all inside with the Queen, thankfully. Roxas couldn't imagine what would've happened if Edge came blurting out here. Laguna must be off entertaining Kiros from Roxas' sudden absence.

He wanted so badly to clear everything up with them, tell them what happened so they know, and that they would stop saying his name so loudly. But now, Roxas can only focus on Axel as the captain stares at Maleek, eyeing down the male.

Axel wears an expertly tailored tunic, jacket and pants, knee-high boots, and a heavy cloak. His broad, muscled shoulders and powerful frame; the knowing glare; even his beautiful face radiates a sense of maleness that has Roxas struggling to remember how to speak. His hair has gotten longer too, enough that he has it tied back in a low ponytail with a blue ribbon.

Axel glares at Maleek as his hand doesn't release Roxas, and Roxas leaning closer to the captain doesn't help. But he doesn't care. He wants to get out of here. And Maleek is unenthused and uncaring. Roxas can feel him searching for a way out for all of them.

Could they even identify their acknowledgement of Maleek without ruining everything?

"Pleasure." Maleek says.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Vanitas finally speaks. Heads turn to him, but he keeps his eyes on Roxas, encouraging the assassin to speak. Roxas is thankful that Vanitas directed it at him. He nods, though he doesn't emerge from behind the captain's arm. "I almost didn't recognize you." Vanitas continues. "You were . . . still a boy, when we saw you last."

Roxas at least leans away from Maleek, but doesn't release the captain's arm. "I'm not nineteen, anymore. I'm twenty." He stupidly replies.

Vanitas gives a slow nod, a sad smile on his lips. He folds them in briefly as if to keep from crying. "So it would seem."

Gods – Roxas is now _twenty_ years old. He's no longer a teenager, not that he ever was. He was a man in a boy's body, and how it seems he is filling out. It's still bewildering to think that Roxas is now a man though, as Axel takes Roxas in from head to toe.

Roxas glances at Maleek, who is too busy staring down Reno and Axel to notice Roxas' attention. "They know everything." Roxas suddenly says. The words ripple through the group, and Roxas watches as the tension slowly flows out of everyone's shoulders.

"How did you get out?" Sora then asks, taking a step closer to Roxas and Maleek – still careful not to mention anything about Roxas' profession or Gollund Mines, despite the reassurance that The Thirteen knew.

"I was let out. But the king. I work for him now."

Sora and Axel look to each other, and Vanitas and Reno look to each other. Was is suspicion or fear in their eyes? Was is because Roxas now works for a powerful Elven male that the world fears and loves? When they look back to Roxas and the members of The Thirteen, Axel says, "Are they you're friends?"

His tone comes out sharp, and with the way he looks to Maleek, Roxas can't help but feed off of the sudden anger that sparks in him like a match. "They are." He purposely grips Maleek's arm, leaning back in until he is pressed close to him. "Some more than others."

Axel's face pales. Roxas' words have struck home, but it wasn't as satisfying as he thought it would be. Even Maleek looks to Roxas in surprise by his bold statement.

It's then that Axel's eyes flick to Roxas' hand gripping Maleek's arm. The hand that once held the gold, engraved band around his finger. The hand that now has an amethyst ring around its ring finger.

Axel swallows and his face loses even more color.

Roxas tries to keep himself as casual as possible, as unthreatening and relaxed as anyone might be upon seeing an old friend. A gaggle of women have started to gather near them, giggling behind their lace fans and batting their eyelashes.

Roxas dares himself to look at his hand, and he moves his finger. The amethyst gem glistens in the light and Roxas carefully strokes Maleek's fingers with his own, just wanting to make sure he is still here and palpable.

"Does your father know you're here?" Reno suddenly asks.

Roxas jerks his head up. Now _that_ was certainly not a question he was prepared for. Nor was it one he wanted to hear. When he looks to Reno, a pain suddenly lances his side. "He has eyes everywhere; I'd be surprised if he didn't know."

Reno nods solemnly. The last thing that Reno had ever said to Roxas was calling him a coward. But Roxas still remembers all of their lessons that they shared atop the grassy hill where the Sun Goddess's ruined temple lies. The battles, the fights, the arguments they had. Oh, how Roxas wishes he could just tell them everything.

Axel can't take this. He can't take seeing Roxas cling to Maleek, can't take the fact that _his_ ring is now on Roxas' finger. Can't take the images and fantasies that are flowing through his mind that would make Roxas so attached to the Captain of the Royal Valendia Guard!

Axel takes a step towards Roxas and Maleek, but then his wrist is harshly grabbed and he's jerked back by Reno. As Axel is about to snap at his brother, Reno jerks his chin up ahead and Axel turns to see a large and intimidating Galtea man – determined by the color of his skin and the style of armor, armed to the teeth with astounding weapons, come and step in between the two groups, blocking Axel's view of Roxas. From the way the weapons look, from the way the other man comes up behind him, Axel figures out he is a guard.

But who –?

"Luminos." a smooth voice calls. And once again Roxas cringes, nearly smacking him palm to his face.

All heads turns and the women's giggles erupt loudly as yet another stunning man with creamy brown skin and long and lean features comes up to Roxas. A gold circlet consisting the designs of leaves and swooping chains surrounds his head. He claps a hand on Roxas' shoulder. He says something in Galtea that makes Roxas chuckle and when he replies, his accent is so smooth and perfectly pronounced that one would think he grew up in the kingdom itself.

What in the hell? Roxas can speak _Galtea_ now?! And who is –

" _Holy gods_ ," Reno breathes in astonishment. The words suddenly click in Axel's mind and he almost makes himself bow.

That's . . . that's the Royal Prince of Galtea. Kiros Seagill.

Axel turns to his twin, their eyes wide. Vanitas and Sora are trying to look past the enormous guards to view the prince. The guards step aside and allow the prince to walk through, his hand now holding Roxas', his smile still bright. He doesn't even seem to notice Axel and the others, not out of being a spoiled brat, but his eyes seem distracted yet eager to show Roxas something. The assassin does seem a little more calm, actually allowing himself to smile.

How is this possible?! How could Roxas have gone from a starving hopeless assassin in a death camp, to an elite elven warrior now brushing shoulders with royalty? Not that Axel isn't grateful, in fact, he wants to thank the prince, the Thirteen, even the King himself for how they might've recreated the family that Roxas had lost, thank them for how they've taken their place.

But just the way that Maleek and Roxas are, the way Roxas is wearing his ring . . . All Axel wants to do is just slam Maleek's pretty face against the stone building. He was a better man than that, and he certainly wasn't the territorial type.

The prince brings Roxas forward, hands still holding. The prince says something to Roxas in Galtea, the language sounding beautiful and graceful. Roxas mumbles something back and the prince playfully smacks the assassin's arm. Roxas says. "I'm afraid we must be going. Her Highness wishes for our company."

As if on cue, the Queen's voice calls, and the entire crowd seems to grow silent and heads turn. "Members!" she calls, standing at the top of the steps to Deep Blue. "Come." She calls. "Our dinner awaits."

Immediately, the two men Cecil and Kain depart from the group without even a goodbye to the group of men, but Maleek stays behind, his hands folded in front of him as he watches Roxas and the prince. _The Prince of Galtea_! Fair to say Axel is no less star stuck. The closest encounter he had come to royalty is Cloud when he was the King of the Assassins. Technically his title still is, but with his efforts now being pushed towards the war effect, it doesn't sit as well.

"Um . . ." Roxas' voice sounds, and it is then Axel finds the blonde standing in front of him. His heart triples in speed. Roxas _has_ gotten taller. And he just looks so achingly beautiful in those clothes. "I know this didn't go as anyone had planned, but . . . would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow evening? I have the night off."

His eyes speak of urgency, begging him to say yes. Axel stares at the assassin for a moment, his hands twitching with the urge to simply cup that beautiful face, to kiss those soft lips. But he simply inhales deeply and relaxes his shoulders. "I would love to. _We_ , would be delighted to."

Roxas smiles, genuinely smiles to Axel as he nods his head. The Prince of Galtea then gives his hand a light tug and Roxas quickly speaks something to the prince. "Okay, I'll make the arrangements."

"Just send word about where and when, and I'll be there."

Roxas gives another nod. Then Axel wasn't prepared as the assassin took the bold step forward and wrapped his arms around Axel's torso. The feeling is so familiar yet so suddenly foreign. Feeling Roxas' body pressed against his, the brief smell of Roxas familiar cologne wafting from his neck, Axel just wants to cry. Still, he embraces the assassin, one hand instinctively petting Roxas' hair, the other rubbing his back.

The assassin then pulls back all too quickly. "Goodbye Axel." he says.

And then the prince takes his hand again and he is finally whisked away in a colorful gathering of capes and shining armor.

Axel watches Roxas as he mounts the steps, Maleek the Captain of the Royal Guard coming up behind him. He watches Roxas until he makes it to the top of the stairs and the Queen of Valendia, of which everyone's eyes are on with her ice-blue gown and white fur-lined cloak. When Roxas makes it to the top of the stairs, the queen gives him a warm and perfectly white and stunning smile as she places her delicate hand on Roxas shoulder. Roxas nods and actually sets his hand _on top_ of the Queen's before disappearing inside the Deep Blue.

Once the rest of the members of The Thirteen file inside: an intimidating male dressed in black with a red, tattered cloak, another wearing an outfit of grey with bladed boomerangs strapped to his sides, and the last one dressed with casual attire, dog tags hanging from his neck, Axel feels his brother grip his shoulder.

As if emerging from a gaze, Axel suddenly shakes his head. He turns on his heels and begins to speed walk his way down the busy sweet. Sora calls after him and hurried footsteps peruse him.

He saw Roxas! He saw that beautiful assassin with his own eyes! And just like that, all too soon, he was gone.

Not even the presence of the Queen could compare. Overwhelming emotions boil in his stomach: relief, love, excitement, worry, unbearable urge to kiss the assassin. Axel can feel his hands shaking, small crescent shapes are set in the heel of his palm from him clenching his hand into fists. He keeps his eyes on the ground, watching the tips of his toes popping in and out of his vision.

Roxas is out of the mines, he looks healthy, relatively unharmed. Still, it does nothing to quench the confusion and questions that Axel has, and that's the reason why Roxas had wanted to organize the dinner, to hopefully explain everything. And Axel wants to hear _everything_.

Still, he can't believe it. He saw Roxas. He found Roxas.

All of those months spent wallowing in the bottom of bottle after bottle of liquor, all those months spent sleeping in Roxas' room, careful not sleep too much as he didn't want the sheets to lose their scent of him, all those months spent crying, and grieving, and wallowing it all seems to have come to an end.

Axel just wanted to cry. The encounter was like Axel was a mere commoner and Roxas the royalty who had taken the time to speak with _him_ , and him alone, within the crowd of onlookers. And then, like the celebrity he was, he was gone, and Axel is left wondering what in the Hell had just happened.

 _He's safe_. _He's safe_. He keeps repeating to himself.

"Axel!" Sora's voice calls.

Abruptly, the captain stops and turns to find the young brunette with his eyes gleaming. The royal blue cloak around his shoulders makes the blue of them twinkle even more. He has a shaky smile on his face, and when he touches Axel's forearm, it's like the spell that's been keeping them controlled is suddenly shattered.

Sora immediately begins to weep and Axel takes the boy in his arms. His own tears spilling over and running down his cheeks. Axel lets Sora burrow into his chest, the smile and wild mixture of laughter makes Sora look like a hot mess, and even manages to make Axel laugh. Vanitas and Reno are standing off to the side, respectively keeping quiet; Vanitas' eyes watering as well, but he wipes them away before they can stream down his cheeks.

Sora keeps weeping, mumbling thanks to the gods and his shoulders shaking form his laughter. Axel chuckles with him, petting the boy's head as they both realize that they had finally found their beloved assassin.

Finally, Sora steps back, sniffling and wiping his eyes. Reno gentlemanly hands Sora a tissue of which he sloppily blows his nose. Axel and Vanitas chuckle. As he says. "Oh gods." He sniffs. "I just . . . I can't believe it." He says with glee.

Reno gives a breath of a laugh, or rather it's just a heavy exhale through his nose as he smiles.

"Oh my gods, wait until Riku hears. What if Cloud doesn't know? We have to send word –" Sora suddenly begins to babble.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Reno says as he steps closer to Sora. "Sora, hold on." Sora looks to the man with that childish innocence. "We can't just send word out to Cloud."

"Why not –?"

"You heard what Roxas had said," Vanitas speaks. "He's under the cover of an alias, obviously people don't know he is out of the mines and I don't think anyone is supposed to."

"But why? Roxas is a worthy man, male, or whatever."

"That's their business, and theirs alone, Sora." Reno implies. "If Roxas wishes to tell you, fine. If not, so be it."

Sora's shoulders slouch as he sighs. "Fine." He quickly wipes his nose again before disposing of the tissue in the trash. They then begin to walk again, Sora's shoulders square and his chin high.

The others follow, Reno still with his hands stuffed into his pockets, Vanitas walking just behind Sora, his black cloak limiting any movement that Axel can see.

And Axel . . . Axel is in a bliss. He is just as high as the spires of King Sephiroth's castle.

 _Roxas_. Roxas is here. He is alive. He is healthy.

He wanted to ask so many questions, ask him about the mines even if the topic would be painful. He wants Roxas to tell him everything – all of the pain and the all of the truths – and then Axel would make up for it all with kisses and hugs and lustful nights in the bedroom. He wanted to give Roxas all of the love he couldn't give with Roxas was being held prisoner.

And yet, just the way he was practically molded to Maleek. The fact that Axle's ring is no longer on his finger. It makes Axel's stomach churn and flip.

But what's even worse, even when Roxas had blessed him with an embrace, when he had said those words: "Goodbye Axel." Axel knew that the assassin had meant it.

* * *

Roxas hasn't said much after the encounter with Axel and his friends. He's been relatively quiet for the past thirty minutes. Now sitting at the long white cloth-covered table, Maleek can't help but look at the assassin with concern as he simply pushes out the carrots on his porcelain plate.

Once they had gotten inside the Deep Blue, he was himself for a brief moment as he beheld the interior of the massive tea court.

Sticking by their name, the Deep Blue's interior follows that of an ocean theme. Once past the stone-and-glass doors, immediately you are greeted with an entryway with stringed seashells dangling on either side of the walls, and then the room opens up to the dining area where there are circular tables covered with elegant white cloths with detailed designs of ocean waves along the hemlines. They are scattered throughout the room in a tasteful fashion and with enough space that a person won't bump into the seat of another when shimming through. Small round vases filled with baby's breath act as the centerpieces, the chairs are covered with the same cloth, tied with a gold ribbon around the back.

The ceiling is vaulted and high, the entire chamber a fair aqua-blue, making it appear lighter. While the largest pearl and crystal chandelier takes up the epicenter of the ceiling, the smaller chandeliers around it are designed like jellyfish as they are translucent, circular and their tentacles are actually beaded pears that dangle and glints in the light. Smaller lights that look like stars are scattered all throughout the ceiling, and white pergolas line the walls, sheltering tables and trellises with vines crawling up them have pink lily flowers blooming. Painted tendrils of coral twine and dance their way up the walls, and a small set of musicians dressed in blue play mystical music that mimics that of an underwater kingdom. The pan flute being the loudest is accompanied with soft taps of a bongo drum and the delicate plucking of violin and the glissando of harp strings.

A large fish tank occupies the far back left corner, inside the bar area, and another set behind a velvet bench for waiting customers. Roxas acted like a youngling when he gazed at the many colorful fishes swimming around. Kiros even pointed out a few of the species that were from Galtea.

Over on the right hand side, there is a set of double white doors leading to the balcony, harboring a more private area with more tables and white lights along the eggshell colored wooden railing.

With the Queen's party entering, the tea court is now practically empty except for a few lucky souls who had scheduled a later time. The hostess beamed when the Queen came walking in, an expression Roxas wishes he had seen, and escorted Her Highness towards the back where there was a large chair, almost looking like her throne, seated at the head of the table, gazing out at the rest of the room. Kiros took up the seat to the Queen's right, then Roxas. The rest of the members of The Thirteen sat where they pleased and it wasn't long before a waitress came to take their order.

Roxas had ordered a grilled shrimp scampi sprinkled with basil, he devoured it the moment it had gotten to his table. Apart from their own orders, the Queen had asked for nearly one of everything on the menu. Roxas was surprised, but the other members, even Kiros seemed indifferent. So now there are large platters of other seafood and crustaceans and fish all each grilled, fried dipped seasoned and ready to be eaten.

But after finishing his own meal, Roxas wasn't that hungry, even if the scent of the grilled salmon smelled intoxicating. He takes a sip of his water as Rydia and Kuja speak. Chatter amongst the other members ripples within the music, and Roxas can't help but smile at how normal they all sound; given the warriors they are of their stature.

A hand on Roxas' shoulder makes him turn to Kiros. "You seems distracted. Is everything all right, my friend?" Kiros asks in Galtea.

Roxas shrugs. "Honestly, I don't know."

Kiros lowers his fork to his plate as he turns halfway to Roxas. "Is this about Axel?"

Roxas nods, cringing slightly at his name. He doesn't fail to notice Maleek's pointed ears twitch at the name as well. When he first saw Axel, his heart sank and immediately he thought back to that night with Maleek. He knew Axel was going to find out, if he hadn't figured it out already when he found his ring missing. Roxas never pegged him for the jealous type, but just seeing the way he was acting make him irk. It was through Kiros' genius mind that Roxas was finally able to get away from the crowd.

He said flat out in Galtea that he was coming to Roxas' rescue, and since Axel didn't understand the Galtea language, it made Roxas laugh. And then with Kiro's coaching, Roxas managed to ask Axel and Sora and Vanitas and Reno to dinner. Whether it should be at the castle, he still was thinking about it. But really, he didn't want to think about it at all.

"I don't know if I'm ready to see him." Roxas mumbles to the prince in the common language.

"No one is forcing you." Kiros replies.

"You just did by making me ask him!" Roxas says as he nudges the prince with his elbow.

Kiros grins like a fiend as he scoops up another spoonful of white rice into his mouth. "I had to, otherwise I knew you wouldn't have asked at all." He says in the common language.

It was clear enough that Laguna and Maleek turned their heads. But Kiros takes a sip from his tea like nothing. Roxas smiles as he sighs.

"And what is so wrong with that?" Roxas continues, switching to Galtea. "I haven't seen him for a year, and I wasn't ready to see him now. I mean, I thought I was, but I'm not."

"Luminos, you cannot just run away when things become difficult. I can tell you haven't before, but why now?"

"Things are complicated."

Kiros cackles. "You are the greatest assassin in the world, yet you fear love?"

"Oh, shut up. Love isn't as easy as stabbing someone's heart, Kiros." Roxas says, mixing the ice in his lemonade with his straw. "It's hot, it's cold; it's rough and then it's soft . . ." Roxas stops himself as his eyes find Maleek, the captain smiling as he continues to eat his salad. Roxas' cheeks turn red and he simply slouches onto the table, burying his face in his forearms and groans. "I hate it."

"Luminos," Kiros says, setting his hand on the assassin's back. "It is only complicated because you're making it." Emerging from his little shelter, Roxas looks to the prince, keeping one arm propped on the table. "The decision is simple: who do you want?"

Roxas opens his mouth. "I –" he claps it shut. "I don't want to talk about it. Not here, please." He says as he turns back to his empty plate.

"You know the answer, you're just afraid to speak it."

"Kiros." Roxas warns.

Kiros sighs, and rolls his eyes; still he is smiling. "Very well. Meet me at my chambers at your earliest convenience."

"Yes, _Your Highness_." Roxas grins to the prince, earning him a harsh push from the prince.

Taking one of the fried shrimp puffs set before him, Roxas dips it in a creamy white sauce and envelopes it into his mouth. As he's about to gorge on a spectacular looking swordfish, he feels a little uneasy as he watches Maleek rise from his seat, quietly dismissing himself to the Queen.

Queen Rydia is merely looking over a few documents she unknowingly brought with her, the many bags of the shops they visited set at her feet, surrounding her gown. Roxas casts his eyes to the large silver bag completely covered in glitter. In that bag is his new outfit to wear for Grand Duke Kadaj's party. Roxas shifts as he remembers the feeling of horror when the Queen said yes. Good gods . . . with an outfit like that –

"Roxas." Maleek's voice whispers, the back of Roxas' chair groaning. Roxas looks and finds the gorgeous man staring at him with those sapphire eyes. "Might I speak with you?"

Roxas nods, looks to Kiros who merely ushers him on, and the assassin pushes out his seat and follows the captain out towards the balcony. The area has been relatively closed due to the possible prediction of rain, and remained closed off for the Queen and her party. Feeling the cold air on his face, Roxas sighs, creating a puff of smoke in front of him. He tugs his red cloak tighter and shakes his shoulders.

"Winter will be coming soon." Maleek says as he leans forward against the railing.

"Exciting." Roxas says. "I'm more than eager to see the Samhain Festival."

"You've never celebrated Samhain before?" Maleek asks, the breeze moving the ends of his bangs.

" _I've_ never personally celebrated it, but there is something similar in Twilight Town, we call it Hallows Eve. It's a similar concept, but instead of celebrating the harvest, children dress up as monsters and ghosts, and go around house to house asking for candy."

Maleek chuckles. "Some holiday."

"You should know. You've been to Traverse Town." Roxas chuckles as he moves closer to the captain. "But, we both know you didn't come here to talk about holidays."

"Or to make small talk." Maleek smiles sadly. "Alright, I'll just ask. Are you okay?"

Roxas' shoulders relax and he sighs again. "I guess I am."

"Are you sure?"

"No." Roxas nervously chuckles.

"How do you feel?" Maleek asks turning halfway to the assassin.

Roxas rubs his arms, willing the warmth to stay instead of being leeched out into the crisp air. "I was, shocked; and scared. I almost didn't know what to think."

"I'm worried." says Maleek, casting his gaze out to the city. "If they're here, then that means they know you're out."

"They could've just been here for the festival." Roxas defends, and Maleek gives him an unenthused stare. Roxas sighs. "It must've been the people from the bar, when we went after Clayton."

"You forgot to pay them off?" Maleek says, a slight hint of anger in his tone.

"Yes, I did. And I guess rumors must've spread." When he sees Maleek tilt his head back, hears him sigh and rub his forehead, Roxas quickly says. "But look, with Axel, anything that was the slightest hint of my freedom he would come running all the way down here. He's just that passionate. Everyone else, they don't know. They just think they're rumors, and when they tell that I'm still supposed to be in the mines, then they will die down."

"I suppose." Maleek exhales as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "But still, you're alright?"

Roxas leans against the railing, he crosses his arms and rests his elbow on the ledge. "I told you, I don't know. I mean, when I saw him, I was surprised." Now it's his turn to look out to the city. The green-tiled roofs now sprinkled with leaves and the people walking by in the streets makes everything seem so . . . normal. "I panicked, and I wanted to leave, but only because we were with the Queen and the Thirteen, and I didn't want them shitting their pants."

Maleek chuckles, but he asks. "But what if you were alone?"

"I'd be more calm, but still on edge, and I guess things would've been the same."

"Same how?"

Roxas looks to Maleek, and he sighs as he finally understands the captain's question. Disturbingly enough, Roxas already knew the proper answer, and this wasn't forced, and it wasn't out guilt that he says it. "I wouldn't have kissed him, Maleek." The captain turns to him, a small spark of . . . something in those amazing eyes. "I wouldn't have. When I saw Axel, yeah I panicked and I thought back to what we did, but I don't regret it."

Maleek swallows before asking. "Do you still –"

"No." Roxas instantly answers. "Not for a long time. I thought I did, but I guess I was just in denial of myself." This makes Maleek smile, and Roxas continues. "I guess it was just a form of false hope. I knew things weren't the same. Not since he found out what I was." Roxas leans forward, his forearms on the railing. "After I came through that portal, after what I did to those Faceless Assassins, after burning nearly a third of Twilight Town to the ground . . . I knew Axel would never accept me for what I really am."

"Does he truly seem so shallow?"

"No, but, it's the truth. He didn't look at me the same, he didn't treat me the same as before. I could tell that whatever we had before, it was gone. Broken. Just like everything else in my life."

"Roxas –"

"After I had killed Ventus, I always felt that Axel held something against me. But that was just the tip of the iceberg, so it would seem. I knew he would never forgive me, and I didn't want him to. But after discovering my immortality, I was scared, and he was too, but instead of helping, I feel like he just left me to deal with it myself. But you . . . you saw, and you understood. You _accepted_. You didn't treat me different, and you tried whenever you could help me. I was just too stupid to realize it."

"Perhaps Axel thought it was for the better. He had little to no knowledge of the Elven kind. He probably would've misled you by accident." Maleek says with a forced chuckle.

Roxas amuses him by giving him a smile. "After I had lost Ventus, I was always so scared that I would lose him, too. But, little did I know I already have."

Maleek comes closer and sets a hand on Roxas' shoulder. "Well," he mumbles. "It's his loss."

When Roxas turns his head, his lips are met with Maleek's. At first he's worried about the other members seeing them, but if Maleek is confident enough to kiss Roxas at all, then they probably can't see. Bringing his hand up to caress Maleek's smooth cheek, Roxas tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

When he feels Maleek's protective arm wrap around him, Roxas rests his hands on Maleek's chest, feeling that strong heartbeat beneath. And he just knows that he made the right decision.


	49. Chapter 22 (Part Two)

The fire in Roxas' library crackles softly, bathing the entire chamber in a warmth that wraps around Roxas like a blanket. As he stares at the hand-tufted detailing of the couch, he listens to Maleek's heartbeat, feeling the way his chest rises and falls against his cheek when he breathes. Roxas adjusts his position, lying on top of Maleek while the captain indulges himself in one of Roxas' many books, and sighs. Maleek's arm rests along Roxas' back, his other holding the book up and open as he silently reads.

Snuggling himself deeper into Maleek's chest, Roxas sighs as he thinks about the dinner that he's supposed to be having with Axel and the crew tomorrow. His heart still beating fast whenever he thinks about it.

He keeps debating back and forth on whether to have it at the castle, or to meet somewhere more public and . . . laidback. He definitely doesn't want any member of The Thirteen there, especially Maleek. He understood this, this is a personal matter. Still, the idea of having to face Axel alone is rather . . . scary. Perhaps just knowing that their presence is around will make him better. Vincent and Edge are great at hiding, as are the rest of the members, but with Elven warriors watching over them, and knowing Sora and Vanitas, they'll just sense it and could potentially make them nervous.

Roxas groans as he thumps his head against Maleek's chest. He feels Maleek's chest vibrate as he chuckles. "Stressed?" he asks as he lowers the book to the side. Roxas nods, keeping his cheek plastered to the fabric of Maleek's soft tunic. Maleek's hand rubs Roxas back and the assassin purrs.

"Are you upset?" Roxas suddenly asks. He's been meaning to ask Maleek what he thought about Roxas making dinner plans.

"No, why would I be?"

Roxas shrugs. "Just asking." He takes his arm and wraps it around Maleek's torso. "Do you think I should tell them everything?"

"They're your friends, Roxas. It's all up to you."

"But what about keeping my secret?" He angles his head so that he's gazing at the Captain of the Guard. Back in their human forms, Maleek's features are softer, more rounded, and his eyes don't shine as bright, but there's just something about that sexy jawline –

Maleek pets Roxas' hair like he would a frightened animal. "If you think they're good at keeping secrets –" Roxas snorts. "then it's fine. Maybe they could give you some answers, too."

Roxas stiffens. He's been wondering about why it was Vanitas had betrayed him. At first he thought it was just for personal reasons, but after seeing how that event had practically destroyed him, it's obvious that it wasn't willing. Roxas can still remember the look on Vanitas face as he shut that wagon door in his face, leaving him at the mercy of the royal guards.

In a way, Roxas still can't forgive Vanitas; because in an unfair way, it's his fault Roxas got sent to the mines. It's his fault he had gotten whipped. Those claw mark scars on his back, watching the death he had seen, the night he rampaged through the mines, it was all Vanitas' fault.

But also, that person who had sent him out to betray Roxas, it's their fault too, and if Roxas ever finds out who it was, he will kill them. Slowly.

"If you want to have it at the castle, it's fine." Maleek says, and Roxas blinks.

"Are you making a suggestion?" Roxas grins.

"Yes, I am. But only because I know it'll make _you_ feel safer. Are you worried about something going wrong?"

"Yes." Roxas bluntly answers. "It's just, I know Axel will bombard me with questions about you and I, and that's when I'm worried that he'll snap about it."

"I honestly don't know what to tell you without sounding like a bastard." Maleek chuckles. He claps his book shut and tosses it onto the coffee table next to a small platter of cupcakes.

Roxas rolls his eyes, but sighs. "I know it's better if I just go alone, because I'm sure having you there will only make him give you that death glare."

"I'm not going to lie to you, if looks could kill, the way he stared at me would've killed me three times over." he says with a smile.

Roxas smiles, and pushes himself up and leans closer to Maleek, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Their lips move together in a slow, erotic dance all their own. When Roxas pulls back, Maleek gives him that same sleepy smile he had that morning. Roxas bites his bottom lip and kisses Maleek's forehead.

"Okay," Roxas says as he moves to sit up, making Maleek groan with some annoyance. "I think I'll host it in one of the castle's tea courts."

Maleek clicks his tongue. "You just want to show them the castle."

"Hell yeah." Roxas laughs. "I want to show them how I'm living now. Show Vanitas how his betrayal actually had benefited me."

As he finishes the words, Roxas feels a pinch in his chest and Maleek's expression shifts to concern. Roxas slouches and rubs his forehead.

"Maybe I'll just meet them wherever they're staying. No doubt Reno has come fancy house here in the city. Which reminds me, so his dealings with the king, those were true?"

Maleek gives a perplexed expression. "How so?"

"Well, Reno had mentioned how he has meetings or dealings with King Sephiroth. He even mentioned something about helping out the rebel forces with friends of high rankings. And the last we spoke, the King of Kerwon was sending out his grand duke to monitor things in Yensa Sandsea."

Maleek nods, rising to sit up straight. "All true. He wasn't exactly a general, so-to-speak but more like a courier. He would deliver or have messages, progress reports coming to and from him. And he was in charge of a small group made to be sent out to the Yensa Sandsea."

"What about meetings? Was he ever there?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. Again, more of like a third party than someone of, military importance. Does that make sense?" Maleek explains.

"A little bit." Roxas laughs. "I would've had him pegged as someone like a commander or lieutenant."

"Oh gods, no." Maleek says, his blunt tone makes Roxas laugh.

"Okay, maybe it's best if I just go to Reno's house, if he has one. That way if things go wrong then I can run out and disappear in the crowd –"

"Why are you so sure things might go wrong?" Maleek suddenly asks.

Roxas jerks his head to the captain. "Have you _met_ the crew? Nowadays if something _doesn't_ go wrong, that's unusual."

"Roxas, just go there with the intent on telling them everything. I can tell you've been dying to tell them anyway. And they look eager to listen."

"Maybe I'll save the . . . information on us, until I have a private moment with Axel."

"And you're sure about this?"

"Yes!" Roxas groans. "I've told you already!"

"I'm just making sure." Maleek laugh as he messes the assassin's hair. He rises from his seat on the couch as Roxas smacks his hand away. He takes the book he had been reading and easily navigates the library to set it back in its little spot on the polished shelves.

Roxas rises, stretching his arms, exhaling with pleasure when he feels the pop in his shoulder. He rolls his shoulders and walk over to the large desk, blowing out the candelabra holding three candles.

When Maleek comes back, Roxas takes his hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The two of them leave the library, and Maleek follows Roxas up until they reach the dais holding his massive canopy bed. It's then that Maleek digs his heels into the floor, causing Roxas to stop and turn with concerned eyes.

"I have a meeting tomorrow. I can only make it for our run."

Roxas pouts, but the gives a feline grin. "Or we could just skip the run. Our other exercise involves a lot more muscle . . . and stamina." He says low, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Maleek's torso, his hands drifting lower and lower until they grope Maleek's firm bum. The captain chuckles and kisses Roxas, but alas, he removes the assassin's hands.

"I will see you at dawn, tomorrow."

"Killjoy." Roxas playfully pouts.

Maleek grins and kisses Roxas one last time before he makes his way to the stairs. Roxas doesn't follow, knowing that if he did and they did another goodbye kiss, Roxas would just yank him back into the room and never let Maleek leave. So he watches until the captain's strong back muscles pull open the door, turn to give another wave, and disappears behind the hinged barrio of marble.

Slouching his shoulders, Roxas walks into his dressing room and disperses his clothes for a soft night shirt and pants. He takes the three step up the dais and crawls in between the smooth sheets. He snuggles down and after five minutes is out like a candle.

In his dream that night, he suddenly remembers.

He and his father would come to Ivalice every autumn when he was little to visit his aunt and uncle. They had a special summer home in Valendia of which he and his father would stay for as long as they wished. He never could properly pronounce his relatives' names, so he stuck with calling them Auntie and Uncle. His father would hiss at him and tell him it was rude, but they insisted it was fine; they said it made them feel 'normal.'

Every year when they visited for the annual Samhain festival, he remembers running rampant through the endless green fields of their plantation, embers and flickers of flames spouting from his hands like ribbons. With his golden hair and his stunning eyes, the ring around his pupil seemingly ignited like a flame of its own, people would often stare and whisper as he bounded past.

There would be other bonfires around, thousands of them scattered throughout the various fields and streets and open squares. Maypoles were wrapped with streamers of the autumn leaves, painted skulls and carved pumpkins would be on every doorstep, autumnal wreaths made from dried branches were hung on every door.

His uncle would always take him in the backyard and teach him the ways of the fire. How to make it move with a wave of his hand, how to make it grow and diminish with his breathing, how to ignite a dozen candles without melting a single stick with a snap of his fingers. He was good back then, and it was always fun because he got to spend time with his uncle.

His aunt would make the best desserts and dinners of Samhain, and the entire town knew it. Her pumpkin pie was to die for, and the way she cooked the turkey . . . delicious. No amount of magic could perfect that. Oh how they would gather around the plantation, talking and mingling with general merriment and the clinking of wine glasses.

Dancers adorned as demons and monsters spazzing and spinning around the massive fires with instruments of beaded gourds, thumb pianos and wooden flutes. The rhythm of the songs were emphasized by the clapping of onlookers and the tapping of their feet. The children were among the grass with sparklers and wearing homemade masks and costumes.

Then the year came when he was eight, and his aunt taught him of the special bonfire magic that's usually celebrated among the younglings. "Come my little firebrand, it is time." she said.

He remembers.

"You must write down an outmoded habit that you wish to end and cast it into the Samhain flames as you imagine release." she would say. She made him write down a habit that he hated on a piece of paper, then crumple it up in his hands. "Imagine yourself adopting a new, healthier way of being as you move around the fire clockwise."

He did as he was told, walking around the fire with the other children, sometimes even adults. His father watching him with a smile on his face, and his turquoise eyes gleaming in the flames. As he reached his beginning position, a spark would glow inside his hands. Most of the other children when opening their hands, it was merely a plume of smoke, a small candle-like flame if one was lucky.

But his . . . when he opened _his_ hands, a small but extraordinary bird would fly out; the feathers of its tail rippling with spits of tinder, and spreading its wings wide. And it was alive. It cawed at him and flapped higher and higher towards the sky.

He could've sworn it got bigger as it ascended, and everyone watched in awe, nearly dropping their glasses and plates.

The magnificent bird nearly lit up the entire night sky as it were morning, its caw echoing through the streets. Some people screamed – not of fear, but of amazement and excitement. They pointed to the sky and the bird cawed again, flames rippling off its body like water over a stone.

The sounds of thumping drew his attention and the attention of a few others to the trees marking the threshold to the forest. Trees and bushes twitched and snapped. His heart leapt into his throat as dark shadows emerged.

Animals of every species came walking out of the woods: deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds, chipmunks, packs of wolves and coyotes, skunks, bears, raccoons, bison, buffalo, foxes. They trudged out of the trees, acting as normal as they would if they were sheltered. They approached the gatherings, but they didn't attack them, they didn't even attack one another.

No, they were only focused on one thing: him. Him and the giant bird of fire behind him, casting the sky in ripples of blue and pink, purple and red.

He took cautious steps back, but with the fire at his back, he couldn't go far. And then, the animals stopped, and they bowed. They bowed – to him. Some would lower their heads, some would bend one leg and crouch. His heartbeat racing, the fire at his back, he could only stare in shock. His forehead glowed a bright cerulean blue, the warmth calming him to some degree.

Then, with one final flap of its massive wings, the great fire bird roared. Its call bellowing across the entire town, rattling the foundation of the great marble castle. And then, it rose higher before looping backwards and coming back around and zooming over the kingdom. It past by so quickly, so ungodly fast that a few of the partiers stumbled. Its tail caught on a large maypole and set the entire head of the totem ablaze.

And then it collided with the horizon, where the sun was starting to rise, and a low rumbling sounded as it exploded in a shower of sparks and twinkling embers. The sky grew dark, the light of oncoming sun barley able to push back the curtain of night as the darkness reclaimed the sky.

Shaken and terrified, he turned around to the other party goers, who were now gazing at him, eyes wide, mouths agape. The mark on his forehead was still glowing, and he feared he would've soiled himself had his uncle not come to his aid.

He had a smile on his face, but it was etched with sadness, but beaming with pride. His uncle took his little hands, which were still shaking and kissed their backs.

"What happened?" he asked, his little voice quivering as his father approached the two. His brown leather boots were shining in the remaining light of the bonfire. His eyes were hard, terrifyingly scary as they seemed iced with a kind of seriousness.

When his uncle didn't say anything, merely cupping one of his cheeks with his callus hand, his turquoise eyes teared.

"I'm sorry." He whimpers, preparing himself for his father to flog him within an inch of his life.

"No, no, youngblood." His uncle cooed to him. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry for."

He sniffled, the snot still leaking from his nose and tracing around his lips. The mark on his forehead was still there, and he just wished the confounded thing would just go away. Everyone was still staring at him.

"What did I do?" he cries, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist.

His father crouched before the two, his eyes seeming to have softened. He looked to his father who looked back. He gave that same sad smile and opened his arms. He walked into them immediately. He started to sob, but his father petted his hair and tentatively shushed the boy. Only when the mark had finally disappeared did his father speak.

"I think it's time for bed, love. Don't you think?" his father cooed. He nodded his head so quickly that his father and his uncle gave a breathy laugh. Anything to get away from the stares.

His father picked him up in his arms and he buried his head into that strong shoulder, letting those arms wrap around him and protect him from the frowning brows and dagger-like stares that carried across the space, poking at his skin to draw blood.

He kept his face buried in his father's tunic as they passed a few of the partygoers, not wanting to meet their gaze. They stepped inside, the dramatic change in temperature making his cold cheeks flare hot, his fingers stiffening. It was only a matter of moments that his father had him changed in his favorite wool nightshirt and tucked into bed. He kissed his forehead and left the room, his door slightly ajar.

He was supposed to be asleep, but after he had asked his father if he was mad and he didn't say anything, even when his father didn't voice it, he knew he was frustrated. He couldn't sleep after that, and when he heard his father and his aunt and uncle discussing about him, he crawled out of bed and kept close to the door, making sure to keep out of the light like his father was training him to do.

They were speaking to one another from the upper levels of the luxurious mansion in their bedroom suite, and he could hear them with his immortal ears even as they spoke quietly.

"I don't know what you expect me to do, Cloud." His uncle had said. He could hear his father pacing before the giant bed with a white canopy dangling above the four wooden posts. "What's done is done."

"Tell them it was all an act. That it wasn't him, and it was some performer playing a trick!" his father hissed. "Start a rumor that someone else did it and that they're pinning the blame on him –"

"Is this because of Tifa?" his aunt had asked.

"It is because he will be _hunted_ , Vendethial." His aunt's name rolling off his father's tongue as smooth as honey and in that beautiful, ancient language that gives him goose skin every time he hears it. "For his whole life, Tifa and others will hunt him for this power –"

"You saw the mark on his forehead, Cloud." His uncle says with a frustrated sigh. "As did everyone else at the gathering. There is no denying it."

"Then pay them off, Rholandion!" his father barked so suddenly, nearly scaring him. His entire body jolted with fear, nearly whacking into the bronze doorknob. "He is only _eight years old_. The other children before him received it when they were in their adolescence."

"Cloud, _maganda_ ," his uncle says, once again speaking in the ancient tongue of the old language. According to the books he read in his uncle's library, _Maganda_ was the old translation for "My Blood Brother." "You are making this seem like it is more harm than good."

"It is more harm than good." His father sighs. "He is still so young. This burden cannot be shifted to him. Not yet."

"Cloud, they were _all_ young." His aunt softly speaks. "Whether you like it or not, he has the gift. And the people are more than willing to accept him. You heard the cheers."

"You saw their reaction." His father hissed. He could just picture his father pinching the bridge of his nose like he always did whenever he was stressed.

"They were just as surprised as you were to see the gift emerge at such a young age. But that only means he holds greater expectations." said his uncle. "To the court, to the people, he will one day rise. He is the heir to two mighty bloodlines, and to a tremendous power that will keep them safe and raise the kingdom to even greater heights. A power that is a gift."

"Or a weapon." His father grumbled. His heart sank as he swallowed. It was a long moment of silence before he heard the floor creak from his father shifting his feet. "He needs training – professional training."

"Sephiroth would be more than happy to welcome him into the coven. Judging from what we've seen there would be plenty of younglings for him to mingle with." His uncle said.

"He cannot and _will not_ train among the coven. They will be too petrified of him, and he still hasn't mastered his instincts. Like dogs, they will smell his differences. Plus, he will be away from home. He will miss Twilight Town. And now that the whole continent knows, enemies will be flooding from all ends of the border." His father spoke.

"I presume you've heard the King of Kerwon's forces slinking their way across the Naldoan Sea?" his aunt said.

"Yes, and after that show, they will flock here like a moth to a flame. No joke was intended there."

Both his aunt and uncle chuckled, but it was forced.

"What do you propose we do?" asked his aunt.

His father was silent for a long while. His stomach sank and his body grew numb. "I must raise him myself, in Twilight Town. I will limit our visitations to Ivalice, but I will find someone to help in his training."

"Cloud –!" his uncle protested.

"I will protect him, and keep his powers hidden from everyone." His father finished, his tone firm to declare that the subject was not up for debate.

His uncle sighed, knowing that arguing with his father was the same as arguing with a bull. Pointless. "What about the King?" he asked.

"He'll just have to deal with it."

"And what will you do when he is of age?" asked his aunt.

"I'm afraid even I don't know, yet."

"This is not a solid plan, maganda. And the King will not be pleased when he doesn't recognize him."

"He could never forget the king." Cloud assured.

"For all our sakes, I hope you're right."

A stressed sigh escaped his aunt's pink lips, and after a grunted acquiescence from his uncle, he heard his father's footsteps creak along the floor.

He sprinted for the bed and leapt into it, throwing the thin sheet over his head. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as the door opened and his room flooded with light from the foyer. He recognized the even, confident gait of his father striding towards his bed. He smelled his father as he stood over him, watching. Felt his long fingers s they stroked through his blonde hair, then along his cheek.

Then the steps left, the door shutting. He wanted to chase after his father and cling to his clothes, begging him to let them stay in Valendia with his aunt and uncle. He wanted to apologize for what he had done, if it was the reason why they were talking about it. He didn't want to stop visiting Valendia. He didn't want to stop visiting his aunt and uncle. But once his father had made a decision, it was final. No questions, no excuses.

And what were they talking about with his power coming so soon? He had heard of girls who shed blood when they have started their journey to womanhood, and for other boys there were signs of a deeper voice, facial hair and a body fitting a man. What made him so special? He was simply supposed to be doing a superstitious ritual that almost never works.

What was so special about a fire bird bursting form his hands? It just meant he was stronger than everyone else. And what did any of this have to do with the King? He never knew his father was acquainted with the royalty, though he did find it amazing that his father could get them exclusive tours of the marble castle.

He would talk to his aunt and uncle tomorrow. No, he will talk to them tonight. Once he was sure his father has gone to bed. Until then, he felt so suddenly drained from happened at the bonfire that he crawled into the bed and slept. For the next few days, he didn't leave the mansion, he didn't say anything about what had happened, nor did they come and talk to him. Either they knew he was listening, or they just wanted to forget it. And he especially didn't shift after the Samhain festival.

But on the fifth day, the second to last day of their vacation, he was determined to speak to his aunt and uncle, and pray to them to help convince his father to keep their annual visits. It was near midnight when he crept out of bed, preparing to venture to his aunt and uncle's bedroom. Unfortunately, a severe and sudden thunderstorm had cast itself over the Kingdom of Valendia.

He remembers.

The sky was an unworldly darkness, and the rain was driving in sheets, making visibility poor. He always feared storms as a child, and since he didn't want his father ridiculing him for being pathetic, nor to disturb his father as he knew he was exhausted, he slunk to his relatives' room, as black as the night, the panes of the window flapping angrily in the wind.

They lied in the bed, unconscious and not moving even from the harsh banging. He closed their window for the, ignoring the puddle his feet splash in as he did. He wiped them off on the rug, trying to ignore the smell of copper and iron. That scent did not sit well with him.

He crawled into their bed, carefully shaking his uncle's shoulder, shivering himself from how cold it was. How long was that window open? They didn't move, didn't reach for him or ask him what was wrong.

The bed was so cold – colder than his own, and the smell of copper got stronger, to the point that he was starting to get a headache.

It was the scent he awoke to when the maid screamed.

It was the scent that poisoned him when his father came rushing into the room, his skin pale, his eyes wild and splatters of blood on his face and clothes. In his hands were two wicked looking daggers dripping with blood. He sheathed them and went straight for the bed and leaned across Uncle Rholandion's corpse.

He was scared and confused; to the point that he actually thought his father would murder him. Why was his father covered in blood? Why was he covered in blood? What happened with –?

Even when his father lifted him from his relatives, he didn't cover his eyes, and so he saw. His aunt's eyes were rolled in the back of her head, her mouth hanging open. A deep cut was sliced across her delicate throat, spilling out veins and the bone of her spine brought forward. Her nose had a string of dried blood on it. His uncle had a similar cut, deep with his tongue sliced out and eyes no more than empty sockets black with his own blood.

The blood of which stained his wool nightgown.

He knew enough about death to understand that once a cut like that has been made, that deep across the throat, there is no coming back from it. Knew that Aunt Vendethial and Uncle Rholandion, who had loved him so much, were gone.

His aunt and uncle, they were – dead. Murdered.

He remembers.

His father held him tightly as he rushed from the room. The air got instantly warmer and smelt of smoke and charcoal as they entered the hall. His father kept him cradled in one arm, the other holding his head, pressing it into his cloaked shoulder. He didn't care move as his father' feet smoothly glided them down the hall.

But from what he saw, this had to have been a nightmare.

Bodies were everywhere, servant and guard alike. They were guards because he recognized the embroidered etching of Bahamut, the Dragon Lord of Kerwon on their armor. Puddles of blood were everywhere, staining the carpets and splashing high as his father sprinted. Fires smoldered most of the house. Everything was burning. He recognized nothing, and he knew this house like the back of his hand.

Blood and destruction was everywhere.

All the while, his father kept his hand on his head, keeping it pressed to his shoulder. "Roxas," he breathed as he rounded a corner. He looked to his father, connecting the dots of blood on his sharp jawline. "We're going to play a game."

He was baffled, wondering how a game fits into all of this.

His father kept his gaze ahead, still springing, but he barely felt the harsh bouncing.

"I want you to close your eyes."

He immediately shook his head. If he dared closed his eyes, then he would see his aunt and uncle, blood staining their clothes and the bed around them, slaughtered like animals –

Nausea rocks his stomach. Shaking hits him so hard that it's a miracle he didn't fall out of his father's arms. His father gripped him tighter, leaning his lips close to his little ears. "Roxas, Roxas, stay with me."

He burrowed deeper into his father, savoring his warmth and trying to block out the smell of blood. Anything to block out that smell.

"I need you to close your eyes, Roxas." His father repeated. "And we're going to count to ten. When I finish, you can only open your eyes, when I say so. Okay?"

He nodded numbly.

"Good boy." His father exhaled and he froze when he saw his father draw one of those wicked daggers. He pulled a black hood over his head, and a mask of ebony over the lower half of his face. "Close your eyes, now."

He did as he was told, his skin tingling with the sound of clinking armor and heavy footsteps. He clenched his eyes closed, gripping the thick, red-stained cloak of his father with a vise-like grip _._

 _One._

There was the sound of a scream, quickly followed by gurgling blood and a loud thud. His world stopped and spun and the metal of his father's dagger whistled as is soared through the air.

 _Two._

The dagger whistled and struck metal, a shield, and suddenly his father's footsteps stopped.

 _Three._

He felt the point of a spear brush past his leg. His father's free arm catches it, grips it and pulls it forward, kneeing the man in his helmet head, knocking him out. Screams chased them down the hall _._

 _Four._

His father made it another few bursts before he quickly dropped low, the heavy whoosh of another shield soaring over his head. His father lunges forward, burying his dagger into the man's sternum. More gurgling. More coughing. Another thud _._

 _Five._

He could feel his father's arm lift, and the sound of metal clanging rattles his skull and deafens his ears. His father grunted as he shoved off, and struck another shield. When the owner went to swing his broad blade, his father ducked low.

 _Six._

Feet moving, his father's grip tightened as they were sent careening forward into a roll and smoothly pushing them both up and continuing on.

 _Seven._

"Almost there, Roxas. Keep counting." said his father, his voice still steady even if breathless. His father's feet picked up speed. He dared to peek out of the corner of his eyes. The blaze of fire was everywhere, a wooden support beam from above barely missing them both as if collapsed from the roof. They were heading for a long window with gold draperies.

 _Eight._

He recognized that window. It was on the second floor of the manor, roughly fifty-feet high _._

 _Nine._

There was no room for questioning, no room for fear or sorrow or anything except that blinding rage and cold, viscous calculation. His father's legs raced, straight as an arrow, each pump of his powerful arms and legs bringing them closer. Escape, that's all that mattered now.

 _Ten._

They reach the end of the hallway and his father leaps.

There's the sound of glass shattering, and Roxas finally gives word to his emotions as he screams, feeling the tiny shards cut into his face and embed in the back of his skull.

Even when he felt his father's arms hold him close, even when darkness enveloped him, he still couldn't escape the smell of blood _._

* * *

Roxas gasped as he jolted awake. He gasps for breath, a scream fighting to escape his lips. He rockets upwards, his chest heaving. He legs entangle themselves in the sheet, making him panic thinking it was someone's hands. He screams and kicks it off, scrambling back under the canopy and hitting his head against the headboard.

Panic sears through him at the enclosed space, but all he does is hold his forehead with both hands and curl on his side, grunting the pain into grit teeth. An unfamiliar tingling prickles along his limbs, like the faint buzz of static electricity.

The faint pins-and-needles sensation, still there, buzzes through him like a soft vibration, though the closer he drifts to full conciseness, the faster it seems to fade.

Unfortunately, it doesn't stop the nausea that floods over him afterwards, and Roxas springs up from his bed, hand covering his mouth. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he collapses to his knees, leaning over one of the many tubs and starts vomiting profusely.

He grips the edge of the tub, his hands shaking as he's trying to prevent himself from falling in. He heaves, and heaves, and heaves; nothing but bile and small remnants of his dinner the night before.

His body is shaking, gleaming with sweat by the time he stops. He slouches forward, the tiles cooling his hot body. For once Roxas is grateful for the early morning chill as he rolls himself slightly to the left to get more of the ice cube-like tiles against his flaring skin.

 _Calm down, it's okay. It's just a dream_.

His head is still spinning. He presses his cheek against the floor, imagining the coldness flooding into his face, cooling the bones of his face.

 _Breathe_. _Breathe_. He told himself.

But then hissing catches his attention. He dares to open his eyes, and even when the room was swaying, he could see the thin tendrils of smoke, smell the scent of melting marble. His hands, his hands were smoldering the tiles.

Panic surges through him as his heart picks up speed, but then agony pierces his spine and it feels as if someone is taking a branding iron and torturously tracing it slowly down his spine. He tries to scream, but his throat is raw, burning.

He shakes with tearless, panicked sobs. His starts gasping, arching off of the floor. His arms start to twitch uncontrollably as do his legs. It's like fire ants are crawling along his limbs and he can't shake them off. Even when his eyes water, the immediately turn to steam, his body radiating so much heat that he feels like a brick oven.

There's more hissing, and he suddenly feels a liquid in his hands. He's melting the tiles. He needs to get to a tub. When he tries to use his arms, when he even tries to lift his arm, it sends a searing pain through his limb that erupts another wordless scream.

Each breath sends fire down his lungs, his veins. He cannot speak or move.

 _Someone help me_! He thinks he screamed it, but he only makes pitched squeaks, and the effort makes his throat scorch and he starts to cough. That makes things worse.

He has to fight through it. He needs some kind of cue, something to alert someone. He needs _someone_! The maids are out for the night as it's still only one in the morning. His eyes sting as if his heat had dried up their moisture.

He's burning from the outside in.

Roxas closes his eyes, concentrating his powers, trying to focus his powers. His head pounds heavily, throbbing so hard that he coughs and vomits again from the pain. It's like his head is an anvil and pain is the hammer.

The white tiles are now a blazing orange, spreading out around him like a puddle. Slowly he can see flames staring to bloom up. He takes his hand, fists it, trying to ignore the pounding headache that nearly makes him black out, or the stabbing pain that causes his hand to shake.

There is no escape – it is an endless and eternal blaze. And there is no dark part of him where he can retreat from the flames. Even that hollow silence, that gaping hole of darkness has become overtaken.

With a heavy breath, his body erupting in a heavy wave, Roxas slams his hand down on the floor. The explosion of fire ripples through the bathing chamber, and through the foundation of the chamber itself. The fire is a crest of red and orange as it waves through the chamber, to his surprise, leaving everything unscathed.

Death would be a mercy, a cold, black haven.

His mouth opens and he screams. Finally screams at the top of his lungs, his throat burning like crazy, his voice feeling like its scraping against sandpaper, making his eyes water. But his tears are gone instantly, heated into steam.

" _HELP ME_!"

* * *

Kiros rockets up from his bed, his breath catching in his throat. His body was sweaty and he had the most horrible feeling in his stomach. His heart was racing, but he didn't have to think. He didn't even think twice as he leapt from his bed, yanked on his clothes, grabbed his sword belt and sprinted from his rooms.

He bursts through his doors, startling his guards, but the prince doesn't pay them any heed, doesn't even bother to look back to watch them check his room for the alleged intruder. His sandaled feet pound against the tile floor as he hurdles down the hallway. His breath is ragged but he pushes himself to go faster.

A clock begins sounding somewhere in the city, a lifetime passes between each booming peal.

He soon hears his guards in tow, calling to him in Galtea, but Kiros doesn't dare stop. He debates on whether or not to stop by Captain Maleek's room, but with the captain's lack of understanding of Galtea, and Kiros knowing he is too panicked to keep his cover concealed, he barrels down further, his lungs nearly shattering

Suddenly a harsh boom shakes the castle. Like it _shakes_ the entire castle; as if it had gotten hit with a thousand explosives. Vases and busts on tables rattle and fall from their positions, shattering against the floor, the chandeliers tinkle and tick from the heavy vibration. Even one of the many massive paintings frames against the walls goes crooked.

Several panicked screams of servants echo throughout the endless corridors. The prince himself stumbles to his hands and knees, his body rippling with electricity as he feels the sudden wave. It reverberates through the castle's foundation, and he hears it.

A scream rips out, echoing like the howl of a banshee. It is so full of fear and pain that it ices the prince's blood. And so familiar. Everything fades into a tunnel vision, and Kiros forgets where he is or what lies ahead, only knowing that he must reach him, protect him.

Kiros runs wildly in the direction of the voice, heedless of danger, hurtling past servants helping each other up, past two guards who had found one another. They take one look at Kiros and – he doesn't see as he sprints past them.

Double blue marble doors come up on his right. They are thrown open from the inside. As if by some blessed miracle, the Captain of the Guard emerges. His head turns to Kiros, but whatever words he was about to say, they are gone and his face pales the moment he beheld the raw panic in Kiros' eyes, the sword belt and scabbard dangling from the prince's clenched hands.

As Kiros comes up, he doesn't slow down.

All the captain asks is, "Where?"

"His bedroom." Kiros gasps, his words nearly swept away in his wake.

At least he was smart enough to believe in trusting instincts. Humans couldn't have survived long without developing some ability to tell when things were wrong. It's not magic – it was just . . . a gut feeling.

The captain keeps remarkable pace with the prince. Shouts can be heard from behind them, but he won't stop.

Maleek can feel his heart hammering through every inch of his body as he follows closely behind the prince, well aware of the guards in tow.

Kiros hits the stairs, taking them two by two, his legs trembling. His hand grips the railing, hauling himself up faster.

They hit the top of the stairs. The shouts behind them grow; people calling out their names, but they would not stop. They turn down the familiar hallway, the prince nearly sobbing at the sight of the white double doors. They are shut, but even from here he can feel the abnormal heat emanating from the doors.

Hysteria has nearly devoured Kiros' composure as they get to his suite doors. Kiros doesn't bother knocking and nearly takes the front door off its hinges as he bursts through, Maleek close on his heels.

"Roxas!" Kiros screams.

As if in answer, a blood-curdling scream sounds from the bathing chamber. Kiros' feet are already there.

" _Roxas_!"

Maleek's blood ices at the sound of the prince's scream. When he makes it to the bathroom, the world suddenly seems to fade.

Roxas is sprawls across the floor of his bathing chamber, a circle of what used to be white tiles now reduced to blackness, surrounds him. The entire chamber is ungodly hot and flames are hissing along the border of the circle. Roxas' limbs are twitching as is fumbling for something, his entire body gleaming with sweat, his nightshift clinging to him. And he is gasping, his face so red, lips so dry, and his hand is clawing at his throat as if he can open an airway for himself. His eyes shining with tears, but they never make it out, just evaporating into nothing.

There is Prince Kiros, saying something in Galtea, his hands tracing marks of arcane magic in the air in front of Roxas, and soon the assassin's arms and forehead begin to glow blue. He doesn't touch Roxas. And he shouldn't dare.

Roxas thrashes against it, his bone grinding scream making the veins of his neck pop out.

He is burning alive beneath his skin.

Maleek loses it. Utterly, loses it. There is no thought in his head beyond roaring panic as he threw aside all of his weapons and approached the writhing assassin. The prince is still saying something in Galtea, and it seems to make Roxas calm, ever so slightly. His forehead glowing with that familiar mark. Maleek goes to scoop him up.

"Can you carry him?" asks Kiros. "The water here is all dried up and we need to get him into cod water. _Now_."

"Get over by the third bath." Maleek orders.

Roxas couldn't describe the relief that flooded him when Kiros and Maleek came into the door. He would've cried tears of joy had he not incinerated them. But he couldn't hear their conversation, not against the pounding –pounding of that forge under his skin. There's a grunt and a hiss and, and then he is in Maleek's strong arms, bouncing against his chest as he hurries across the room. Each step sends a needle-like pain through his joints. Though Maleek's arm were ice cold, his frigid wind forcing its way down his throat, Roxas is cast in a sea of flames.

Hell. He was in Hell. This is what the god's underworld felt like. This is what will await him when he takes his last breath.

He cries again, forcing himself to focus on opening his dry mouth and inhaling that cold air that tastes of spice and snow. He tries to imagine the ice-blue tether connecting him to Maleek, tries to grasp it with desperate fingers. But he is a maze, a labyrinth, the string getting tangled among the sea of fire.

"Get him in the tub."

Roxas is lowered into the water in the second white tiled tub, then steam brushes his face and hisses against his legs. Someone swears.

There's a moment of blissful cold, but then like the snap of a finger, light flares, and –

" _Get him out_!" Kiros screams. Strong hands yank at Roxas, and he could've sworn he hears bubbling, like that of a witch stirring something in her black cauldron.

He had boiled the water, and nearly boiled himself. There's more feet running, running as fast as his father had ran that night in his relatives' manor. The memory makes Roxas whimper and his skin grows hotter.

"Here!" says a voice different from Kiros or Maleek.

He is in water again a moment later, the ice forming again – then melting. Melting, not steaming, and – " _Breathe, Roxas_." Maleek says by his ear, kneeling at the side of the tub. The black tiles against his gold armor if blinding. Kiros is still speaking in Galtea quickly and his hands still tracing the air in font of Roxas. "Let it go, let it out of you."

Roxas exhales, steam rising.

"Good." Maleek pants. Ice forms again. And then it melts.

Roxas is sweating, his heart pulsing against his skin, against his head like a heavy drum. The mark glowing on his forehead, the light bright against his closed eyes, is now cold, and Roxas focuses on that cold and imagines it pooling around his head and sweeping along his entire being.

Like the ebb and flow of the waves on a beach, the water freezes, then it melts, it freezes again, and melts again. Each time, it takes the ice longer to melt and the cold soaks into his skin more and more, urging his body, his muscles, his mind to relax.

Ice and Fire. Frost and embers. Together with Maleek, the water frosts along the top, and with an exhale, Roxas makes it pool away. Beneath it, Roxas can taste the steel of Maleek's will pushing against his magic. A will that refuses to let his fires burn him into nothing.

Kiros' are on him now, and they trace up and down Roxas' arms, the chill that they leave behind gives him goosebumps. They poked like needles and Roxas thrashes, but the prince' strong hands held him firm. When he presses his hands to Roxas' forehead, the assassin whimpers with gratefulness. Kiros keeps this up, the residue stays cold longer and longer.

Roxas' body is aching, but the pain is mortal. His cheeks are still hot, but the water goes cold, then lukewarm, then warm and – after another melt away, the water stays at room temperature.

"We need to get these clothes off him." Kiros says.

Roxas has lost all track of time and sense as he feels delicate hands ease up his head and strip off his sweat-drenched nightclothes. Without them, he was practically weightless in the water.

As the water continues to grow cold, Roxas lies with his head back, eyes shut, face tilted towards the ceiling. Someone places a cold, wet towel around his neck and then a soft pillow.

A hand traces his right cheekbone, and he hears Maleek say, "Just answer yes or no, that's all you have to do."

Roxas manages the slightest nod, but even that cause pain to lance down his neck and shoulders.

"Do you think you'll flare up again?"

Roxas is breathing evenly now, still a small shudder that hurts his chest. His head pounds like it would when congested, and the throb ripples through the rest of his limbs. "No." he whispers, a plume of smoke puffs from his mouth.

"Can you try to sleep?"

"I don't know." A hiss of steam. Maleek quickly coos Roxas softly, the knuckles of his fingers once again tracing along his warm cheek.

"We'll have to prepare a tonic, just to keep him cool." Kiros says to someone, his voice cast in the other direction.

Soft padded feet make their way across until a door off to his left clicks. There's the sloshing of water and then – a stream of ice cold water is poured into the tub.

Roxas exhales as an ice-cold cloth is laid on his forehead.

"Try to sleep, Roxas." Maleek says quietly. "We'll be here when you wake up, I promise. We will watch you."

Kiros' soft finger traces along Roxas shoulders, almost singing something as he does. Roxas' eyes feel heavy, but before he can fall asleep, fresh tears escape his eyes and stream down his cheek.

When they don't dissipate into steam, more and more come, the mixture of pain and relief and trauma all leaking from his eyes, until Roxas slowly walks himself into darkness.


	50. Chapter 23 (Part Two)

It was the longest night of Maleek's life.

For the near entirety of it, he spent it by Roxas' side, pressing the cold, wet towel over his forehead. After his near burn out episode, the image of seeing him curled into himself on the bathroom floor still giving him chills, Maleek doesn't dare leave Roxas' side, and neither does Kiros.

When he nearly boiled himself in the second bath of his bathing chamber, the first one having vomit floating along the top, they had no other option but to drop him into the fountain in the entryway of his chambers. The other baths were empty, and they sure as hell didn't have the time to fill them. Roxas had incinerated a few of the lily pads that floated around the top, but with the constant stream of cold water coming from the carved lion's mouth, it was their best option.

Kiros has since settled himself in Roxas' room on the upper floor; gathering the many plush cushions and pillows scattered throughout Roxas' chamber into a suitable bed, and thankfully explaining everything to his guards, who were still in a bit of a panic from the prince's emotional spasm. He made the tonic that kept Roxas cool enough for the night. The water hasn't been turned to steam, and Maleek has allowed himself to stop freezing it.

Roxas now lies with his eyes closed, indulged in sleep, breathing even, the water covering his entire body up to his shoulders. His cheeks are still rather red, as is his neck, but it's nothing to be concerned about. Maleek sits beside him, planted on a soft rose-pink pillow, holding Roxas' hand. The quiet ticking of the grandfather clock of the library the only sound in the background. It's nearly minutes until dawn.

His thumb strokes the assassin's thumb, just wondering – how? How is it that he had come so close to a combustion, when he has barely even used his magic to begin with? And finding him in the bathing room, one of the tubs polluted with vomit . . . something must've happened. Maleek has heard of random bursts of magic erupting from their users, but only after they've had training as a form of spasm, or they've pushed themselves too far. Roxas was a complete emotional mess when Maleek and the prince found him.

It's a rarity to have powers directly connected to emotions. The only other case they head heard about was over in the kingdom of Arendelle, where their Queen had feared her own abilities, and the kingdom nearly perished in a devastating winter. Somehow, the queen's sister managed to save the kingdom, but also the queen.

But Roxas has barely had any training, and he certainly hasn't even touched his magic since their arrival at the castle. Maleek had planned on having Roxas train soon, to see if he still had some semblance of control. Just, how?

The sound of soft footsteps makes him turn towards the right, and Kuja and Seymour emerge from Roxas' library. Cecil and Kain are outside on the balcony, watching the doors, Vincent and Edge hiding in the available shadows of the entire spacious suite. Laguna was probably sitting at the dining table, napping or eating.

When that massive quake rattled the castle, the members of The Thirteen quickly assembled. They came to Roxas' chambers from the help of a few panicked servants, but Maleek wasn't even aware of their presence until after he had cooed Roxas to sleep.

But they were there, and they saw _everything_. From discovering Roxas in the bathroom, to Prince Kiros' magical words, to helping haul Roxas out of the tub and into cold water.

They wisely haven't spoken to Maleek even after Roxas was asleep. With his instincts still heightened, Maleek would've slit their throats if they dared approached without even a second thought that they weren't an enemy.

But they instead, showed Maleek the reasons as to why they are a coven. They had displayed almost instinctively, their protective nature of looking out for their own, and reminding Maleek that they are not just a coven, but a brotherhood.

They could have left once things had settled down, but no. They each had their own mask of emotion, and didn't say a single word as they spread out throughout Roxas' spacious suite, checking all of the shadows for a threat, checking the food to make sure there wasn't any magic-inducing poison, standing guard by the doors. It almost made Maleek cry with appreciation.

They had no reason to care for Roxas, they could've treated him as the poor, helpless, inexperienced youngblood that he is. But instead, they are treating him like their kin. They are worried for him, and it's . . . astonishing. Maleek remembers seeing Cecil, Seymour, even Vincent coming down by Roxas' side when they thought Maleek was sleeping, his head in his arm.

Each of the elven warriors brushed Roxas' smooth cheek, pushing strands of hair off of his forehead, some of their eyes gleaming.

How is it that this boy has an effect on everyone he meets? Even when he exchanges few words between them?

Well – he did know _why_ , but to see it in person for himself . . .

The click of a door sounds and Maleek jerks his head up to find Kiros walking across the mezzanine wiping his hands with a small towel. His head turns towards the two and gives a sad smile. Maleek watches the prince, now dressed in a borrowed tunic from Roxas' closet and grey pants, he keeps his staple sandals as they softly clop along the tile.

His guards stand on either side of the entrance doors, having their weapons ready. When the prince reaches the two, he extends out a finger and tentatively traces the top of Roxas' forehead and down to his cheekbone. "How is he?" the prince asks in the common language, his accent less thick than when they had last spoken.

"He seems fine." Maleek says, his voice raw and throat dry. When was the last time he ate or drank anything?

Kiros carefully sits down next to Roxas, wary of Maleek. Treating Maleek like a male lion protecting his mate. But why –?

Oh, he had shifted. Maleek didn't even realize it. He must've been so caught up with Roxas that his Elven instincts must've kicked in and shifted instantly. He runs his tongue over his fanged canines, prodding the tip.

The prince swallows, and says. "If you wish to exchange shifts, you're more than welcome to get something to eat –"

"I'm fine." Maleek says, barely letting the prince finish. He would get flogged for such disrespect to the prince, but Kiros didn't seem to mind.

"Maleek, you must eat something. It has been five hours."

He shakes his head. "I said I'm fine."

Kiros' shoulders slouch in defeat and sighs. He simply stares at the blonde, the assassin in recompose as he delicately breaths. "Do you think it is safe to move him?"

Maleek dips his hand in the water, finding it colder than it was before. He exhales with relief. "The water has gotten colder, but I don't want to move him. Just in case."

Kiros gives a nod of his head. He folds his hands in his lap, his lips frowning along with his eyebrows as he just watches Roxas sleep. He looks so peaceful now, compared to what had happened. "The servants did a wonderful job cleaning up the bathing room."

"What about the tiles?" Maleek asks, never taking his eyes off of the sleeping assassin.

"They said they'll deal with it in the morning." Kiros replies.

"Alright." Maleek nods. There's a silence between them as they both just stare at Roxas. Maleek still can't believe the power of Roxas' magic that had rocked the castle.

He was sleeping in his bed when he awoke to an odd feeling, something grumbling in his gut. Something inside him urged him to go check on Roxas. He opened his doors only to find the Galtea prince sprinting down the hallway as if demons were on his heels. The look of panic, the paleness of his skin . . . that alone nearly sent him over the edge of panic, and it's like his instincts snapped and he knew exactly what had the prince panicked, knew where he was going, and just ran.

He should move Roxas over to the bed, the water will prune him into an elder, but he's still so worried that the simple heat from the blankets will set the bed on fire.

Maleek takes the wet rag, dips it in the bucket he's been keeping cold and wrings it out. He sets it on the assassin's forehead. Roxas stiffens slightly, but relaxes after a second. Maleek traces the rag around Roxas' face, pressing it to his cheeks, eager to rid them of their pink tone.

"Have you ever seen such a sight?" Kiros suddenly asks.

Maleek looks up, still surprised at how well the prince's pronunciation has developed. He stares at the prince, bewildered by his question until he says, "That kind of magical build up."

"Oh," He clears his throat. "I have seen it, once or twice on battle fields. Everything that happened with him, it was normal. In its own twisted way. I'm more concerned on _how_ it happened. Roxas has barely touched his magic since our arrival at the castle."

"Were you planning on training him?"

"Yes, but now, not for a long while. He's not even going to touch his magic until I say so."

"Your concern for him is . . . trifling." says the prince. Maleek lifts his head. "I have only ever seen true love a few times. And every time, it still fascinates me to tears."

Maleek swallows back his surprise. It's not that they were obvious, or they tried not to be, but his relationship with Roxas was something he wanted to keep quiet, at least form the public. No doubt his nerves and his behavior gave him away to the prince and the coven.

Oh well, at least they're above teasing. And as long as the public doesn't find out, until the appropriate time, then things should be okay.

Maleek puts the rag back in the bucket. His face wan with sadness. "You don't have love, Your Highness?"

"Not like that." The prince chuckles. "Most of the marriages between royalties are arranged in Galtea. More often than not, the couple is not suitable for one another. Thankfully my father allowed me to pick my future bride, but still . . . I sometimes worry that I won't find what I see in other couples. Especially you two."

Maleek's hand still laced with Roxas' he simply stares at the small scars on the assassin's knuckles. How the years of fighting, years of struggle, of battles and of loss. They each mark their territory on not just his hand, but his body as well. The two of them are maps of their adventures, forever etched into their skin.

In a way, it still fascinates Maleek on who Roxas is. How his body represents him. It sounds odd, but it's true. When the body is injured, broken, bruised, bleeding, it still heals. It's a long process, but the body can still heal, and go on with the rest of life.

"You wouldn't say that if you saw him with Axel." Maleek suddenly mumbles.

"Who?"

He bites his bottom lip. "Axel was Roxas' first love. And they cared for one another as much as he and I. Perhaps even more. If you would've seen how _they_ were, there is where his true love is."

"But he is not with him now, is he?"

"Only because he can't leave the castle. We have to keep his identity secret –"

"Maleek." Kiros interjects. The captain look up to the handsome prince. "Roxas chose _you_. Yes, he could've gone out and searched for him, he probably would've succeeded. You and I both know he is more than capable. But he chose to stay. And he chose you."

"But now Axel is here. And I know he wants to see them, to tell them everything."

"As he should."

"But . . . I'm, scared." Maleek admits. "I can't control his heart, nor do I want to. But I don't want to lose him."

"He chose _you_." The prince repeats, a smile growing on his face. He can't stop staring at Maleek's pointed ears and canines. It still fascinates him to watch the elves shapeshift from human to immortal, or from immortal to animal. And I might not know much about elven mating," he giggles. "but once their mate is chosen, there is no going back, is there?"

"No, but –"

"Then his decision is final. And I can guarantee, Captain, that he will not go back." Kiros says, finalizing the conversation. He doesn't let the captain go any further as he rises from his spot next to Roxas, pats off his tunic, smiles, and then starts to walk his way up the steps.

Maleek watches until the prince is out of sight, and then turns back to Roxas, he can't help but smile. He can see Roxas' teeth chattering beneath his lips, and when he dips his hand into the water again, even without his powers, the water has grown cold. Freezing, in fact.

After a minute of waiting for Roxas to warm the water again, when he doesn't, Maleek allows himself to leave the assassin's side long enough to pull back the covers of his bed. Maleek returns to the bath, the assassin still soundly sleeping, and scoops him up, blanket and all.

Kain comes inside as Maleek makes it to the stop of the stairs, but only exchanges a quick glance, and carries on to speaking to Laguna at the dining table. Maleek sets Roxas down on top of the soft mattress and pulls forward the thin sheets, tucking back to the heavy comforter. He only sprawls a quilt over Roxas' body and tucks it in with extreme gentleness.

He looks to the balcony doors, finds Ceil still standing outside, arms folded behind his back. Slowly, one door groans open. Cecil looks over his shoulder, but doesn't shut it, he simply goes back to watching the balcony. Maleek leans on the edge of the bed, watching as Roxas slowly turns on his side, burying his face into the pillow.

Leaning in as slow as he can, careful not to disturb him, Maleek kisses the assassin's forehead, pleased to find it at normal temperature.

As Prince Kiros makes himself comfortable in one of the few armchairs around Roxas' room, the front doors suddenly open and Maleek hears Vincent' voice mumble something.

Boots and heels click along the tiles, and just from the sounds of the gate, Maleek knew who it was. He doesn't move despite his nerves, and watches as King Sephiroth and Queen Rydia emerge from the top of the stairs. The members of The Thirteen bow and mumble respected greetings.

Her Majesty is dressed in an incredibly sexy, slim red dress with a low V cut down her front with black lace filling the space in between. Her hair was left straight and flowing, a simple black headband holding back her bangs. King Sephiroth's entire outfit was black except for a red sash around his waist to accompany his wife's dress. Maleek remembers they had a gathering with some dignitary.

Wait, it's nearly five in the morning, and both the King and Queen were known to stay for the entirety of social gatherings. Did – did they leave the party early . . . to come see Roxas?

Maleek immediately moves away from the bed as the Queen hurries as fast as the fitted skirt of her dress allows, a black and rectangular coin purse in her hands. She nods to Prince Kiros, who returns it and resumes reading a book he no doubt took from Roxas' library. Maleek nods to her, exchanging a quiet greeting as he approaches the King. To his surprise but oddly placed happiness, the King and Queen seem just as concerned and worried for Roxas.

"Your Majesty," Maleek bows.

"How is he?" King Sephiroth asks.

"He seems fine." Maleek exhales, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Nothing else seemed to have burned, he skin isn't showing any blisters, rashes. I just tucked him in now."

As he spoke, Maleek watched as the King's eyes were constantly over his shoulder, never looking at him. Maleek turns and finds the Queen seated on a stool chair she dragged over from the side. The skirt of her dress flows out to the side, her rings glittering in the limited candlelight. She holds Roxas' hand, his fingers pressed against her red lips, her eyes watering.

When he looks back to the king, his eyes are still on Roxas, also just a glittering. His folds his lips. "How did it happen?" Sephiroth asks roughly.

"From I gathered," Maleek says with a shrug of his shoulders. "something must've happened that sent him rushing towards the bathroom. We um, – we found some vomit, in one of the pools. So I first thought it was something he ate, he was too hot in his bed . . . but it was something more emotional."

"Has he awaken yet?"

"No, not since we managed to calm him down at midnight."

Sephiroth nods. He sighs through his nose and runs his hand through his hair. "I see he must've given you quite the scare." He says, motioning towards Maleek, still shifted in his elven form. "Have you all been here since midnight?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

Sephiroth's shoulders slouch and a grateful smile spreads. "That it very kind of you."

Maleek returns the gesture. "We look out for our own, Your Highness."

King Sephiroth smiles, looking back at his wife and the assassin. Her fingers stroke the back of Roxas' hand, her red nail winking in the light. She then reaches out one hand and the knuckle of her pointer finger traces along the assassin's cheek.

"You should've seen how anxious she was. She could not stop fidgeting on the carriage ride home." King Sephiroth mumbles.

Maleek chuckles, or more rather his throat bobs from amusement, but he turns to the king. "I don't wish to move her, but – Roxas needs his rest."

King Sephiroth nods. "I understand. But we expect reports."

"Of course."

With that, Sephiroth walks over to his beloved, setting both his hands on her shoulders. "We must leave, my pet. The coven will watch him."

The Queen's head lowers, her shoulders drooping, but she then looks to King Sephiroth and nods. She takes her purse in one hand, Sephiroth's hand in the other; but quickly she presses the tips of her fingers to her lips and traces along Roxas' cheek once more. And after Sephiroth stares at the assassin for a moment, the Queen links arms with him and they start to walk away. Maleek bows to them as they pass, and head down the stairs. He still hears the Queen sniffle as they leave the room.

Once the Galtea guards close the doors and resume their positions, Maleek turns back and finds Vincent standing a couple feet from him. "Do you wish for us to leave, Maleek?" he asks.

"No. You can all stay for as long as you want. It's . . . better that way."

Vincent nods and turns away from the captain, no questions. He only goes out to speak with Cecil, and then the twins soon exchange positions into the library. Maleek can't help but smile.

For the rest of the night, he and The Thirteen exchange guard shifts around Roxas' chambers.

* * *

Roxas awakens, and the first thing that registers is pain. A deep bone ache that makes it nearly impossible to even wiggle his toes without sending the feeling of shards of glass shooting through his legs. His mouth is bone dry and his head pounds in the limited light of his chambers. He knew he was still in his chambers from the familiar smell of his sheets. He is in his bed, he is in his room, he is safe.

His eyelids are heavy as he opens them, blinking away the blurriness that still lingers. His body feels normal, mildly warm. His stomach aches, and even with his body back to normal, he still craves an ice cold water.

Roxas looks to his right, as if even in sleep, he knew where he was.

Maleek is dozed in a chair, his arms and legs sprawled out his head tipped back, exposing the unbuttoned collar of his tunic and the strong column of his throat. From the angle of the sunlight it's probably around dawn.

Roxas swallows and winces at the sharp dryness of his throat. "Maleek." He rasps.

The captain's eyes are immediately open and he leans forward with his hand on his sword. When he sees Roxas awake, his entire body seems to relax. "You're awake." He says as he pushes up from his seat. "How're you feeling?"

Roxas looks at himself. He has a new nightshirt on and whatever vomit or sweat he had on is gone. Just moving his eyes up to the circling made everything spin. "Horrible, but I think I just need water."

Maleek leans on the edge of the bed and Roxas instantly rolls on his side to meet him. The captain's hand feels cold like a pack of ice as he presses it against the assassin's forehead. Roxas' stomach twists when he suddenly sees the already healed burn marks and red welts on Maleek's forearms.

He had burned him.

Roxas lifts his hands, his eyes stinging as the tips of his fingers brushed the swollen, scarred skin. "I'm so sorry." He whimpers.

"I'm fine, Roxas." Maleek says.

He is about to ask how it happened, when a door opens somewhere and soft footsteps sound, as they pad their way up the stairs, Roxas feels his heart twist when he sees Prince Kiros carrying a small bag of fruit. He nearly drops it when he sees Maleek and Roxas. Thankfully he manages to catch himself and set it on the console table before hurrying over to the bed.

Maleek wordlessly moves, smiling as the prince leans over the bed and hugs Roxas as gently as he can. The assassin' still winces, but smiles too. He would've moved had it not cause a severe stab through it.

"Oh Luminos, thank the gods." The prince sighs, or nearly sobs with relief. He pulls back to stare at the assassin, keeping to his Galtea tongue. "I didn't think know what to think, you were asleep for so long, your body was so hot –"

"I'm fine, Kiros. And thank you. I'm assuming you spent the better part of the night watching me?"

"Worrying, more like it. And look, my guards will keep their mouths shut. But I swear to the gods, friend or not, the next time you do _anything_ like this, I am going to throw you in the dungeons myself."

"For burning the floors?"

"For scaring the hell out of me!" Kiros says, and Roxas couldn't help but chuckle slightly along with the captain. Even if the laughter made his body ache. Kiros smiles, but still rubs his face with his hands. "Do you have any idea what you looked like when I found you?!"

"I'm just going to take a guess and say . . . bad?"

A flat stare. "You had a circle of black around you, the bathing chamber was unworldly hot, and your skin was so raw and red –!"

Roxas manages to lift his hand tentatively above the covers and delicately set it on Kiros' forearm. "Thank you, Kiros." He mumbles.

After he was given his cup of cold water, one by one each member of The Thirteen greeted Roxas. It's like they had planned a schedule on how long they can each speak with him: fifteen minutes, no questions about what happened. They exchange smiles, humor and cheerful banter – Cecil and Laguna even brushing comfort kisses on Roxas' cheeks – and then continue on their guard duty around his room. Maleek was the last to go, and they talked well over his given time. He told Roxas of how they had found him in the bathing chamber, how he almost boiled himself alive, and how they had no choice but to dump him in the fountain. Roxas feels slight sorrow as he could've sworn there were fish in his fountain. Kiros sitting on the bed silently listening. Soon Maleek excuses himself with a kiss and turns to head in the direction of the library. When he closes the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar, Roxas looks to the prince now lying by his side, propped up on one elbow.

Roxas turns to the prince, biting down the grunt of pain. "I didn't mean to cause anyone any trouble but . . . I honestly don't know what I would've done without you. Or any of them." He says. His mouth still so dry that when he gulps, he coughs slightly.

"I cannot really explain what happened, Luminos. All I knew was that I had awoken and just . . . just had this terrible feeling in my stomach. And I just knew that I had to get to you."

Roxas smiles, but it falters. The poor prince had dark smudges under his eyes, his hair was a sloppy ponytail of dreadlocks and utter exhaustion lines every inch of his smooth skin. He must not have slept once last night.

"The entire castle rattled. You know that?" The lift of Roxas' eyebrows indicates otherwise. "I was running down to your room, and suddenly it just shook, as if someone had just lashed out a powerful burst of magic into the foundation. Some of the guards thought they were being attacked, but the night was calm."

Roxas gulps. "You mean to tell me, _I_ did that?" Kiros nods. "I don't remember any of that. I hardly knew what I was doing while my magic tore through me; all I had known was that I needed someone to find me. To find me and help me. To make me feel _safe_."

Prince Kiros gives a bashful smile.

"I guess you were the first person that came to mind." Roxas says.

"It must be a bond we have." Kiros says, the tip of his pointer finger brushing aside Roxas' bangs. They seem to have already grown out since he had gotten it trimmed. "Although Maleek seemed to awaken just as I had passed his rooms. The doors opened and all he asked was where you were."

"Really?"

Kiros nods, giving Roxas a mischievous smile. "You elves certainly have strong bonds to your mates."

"No – I . . . I-I'm sure it was just instincts." Roxas stutters.

The prince's smile widens and Roxas rolls his eyes and shifts to lying on his back. The prince slides his arm across the bed to grasp his hand.

"Well, while you were away slaying avian creatures and delving in the elemental magic, let me tell you the stories of what I've been dealing with inside this castle." Kiros says brightly. "And I will start, with this one sloppy, snot-nosed councilor!"

Roxas chuckles and lets Kiros babble his nonsense. The prince knew he was so tried, but Roxas didn't want to just lie there in silence. Kiros didn't bother telling anything important because Roxas eyes quickly started to droop. He yawns, and the prince rubs his eyes, his other hand still in the assassin's. But he doesn't let go. Slowly the two of them fell asleep. And when Roxas awoke, Vincent and Edge were outside now, Maleek over at the dining table with papers around him. Kiros is asleep, still holding his hand, clasped to his chest.

Roxas knew he will have to get up eventually. He needs to get ready to meet up with Axel for dinner.

Yes – he is still going. He is _determined_ to go.

And since he had already wasted away half his day catching up on his sleep, he'll have to settle for going out to wherever it is they are staying. Most likely some expensive townhouse in the upper districts of the Royal City.

For some reason, he finds himself wondering what would've happened if he had his magic breakdown happened in Ivalice. In Reno's luxurious mansion among his men who knew so little about magic? He would've burned the rugs, possibly hurt Artemis, maybe even Sora and Vanitas. Reno would've been running the show, but none of them would have been able to touch Roxas. Seeing the burns on Maleek's arms, they were close to second-degree. It's most likely thanks to his elven healing abilities that his skin didn't burn off completely. If it were Axel . . . Even with Reno's caution, Axel would've taken the challenge, and would've lost.

He can't put into words how thankful he is to have found Maleek. And The Thirteen, having them here, it's surprising. He almost feels welcomed, accepted. He had thought they would've left by now. But after speaking with each of them, he could see the worry etched on their faces. Turning his head, he looks to Edge and Vincent, ever so visual out on his balcony. Seymour is most likely in his library, Kuja seated with Cecil at the table. Kain over by the front doors, Laguna asleep in an armchair.

A warmth runs through him, blooming like a flower at his core when he realizes that they are more than soldiers. A little despised with himself for think of them as mere competitors for his position as leader of the coven.

They are so much more. Even with his half-blood, they welcomed him. They accepted him. They could've been assholes, they could've treated him like a mutt compared to their purebred.

But no – they are his friends. They are his kin.

They are his family.

Slowly, that future with Maleek grows brighter.

 _Maleek_. The way he cares for him, the way he helps him. It stretches far past what Roxas thought he could have with Axel. There is no way Axel would've been able to handle Roxas like this. Maybe that's why he could never accept it, because even if he had no knowledge of the future, there's always that feeling of knowing what you can't handle.

It doesn't really makes sense, but it does.

Maleek knew what to do with Roxas' power, how to care for him. Even if Axel had every single pace of knowledge there was on the Elven species, he still would be clueless.

Oh, Maleek.

Finding him, it was like getting lost, and then coming back home all at once. Who would have thought they'd be there now. All because of that faithful night they met at the glass castle in Traverse Town. (Or, technically it was in the town of Hallows Eve when they battled against one another)

Roxas can't stop the small giggle as he angles his head to stare at the captain, writing with a black pen on some folded parchment. His one cheeks resting against the knuckles of his fingers.

Roxas knew he loved him when 'home' went from being a place to being a person.


	51. Chapter 24 (Part Two)

Well, it would seem his dinner plans have reached an impasse; as everyone refuses to let Roxas out bed today!

Kiros had to leave due to his filled schedule, but even so, he hollered to Roxas from the front doors to stay in bed. Each member of The Thirteen brought him trays of food for breakfast and lunch, and going as far as to make sure he eats every last bite, and drinks every last drop. Though the portions were small, and each meal was similar, Roxas found it rather difficult to eat despite the hunger that made his stomach growl like a tiger. The only thing that seemed to sit well was the cups of warm tea that accompanied each meal; the sweet honeyed drink mixed with chamomile was relaxing against his throat.

If he didn't know any better, he would've thought they were all fussing.

When the time seem to finally come that everyone was relaxed enough to leave him along, Roxas pushed back his thin sheet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His feet find his slippers and he pulls on a thin wool robe. He looks around and finds no one, not even seated at the dining table.

As he makes his way towards the top of the stairs, he keeps looking around for any sight or sounds of shadows and boots. And when he turns back to the stairs, there is Maleek with his hands on his hips, a smug smile on his lips. But –! How –!?

Roxas' sighs, drooping his shoulder and immediately rolling his eyes. Maleek crosses his arms. "And just where do you think you're going?" he asks. As if to emphasize his question, Vincent and Kuja emerge from the shadows of the mezzanines by the front door. They would've stopped him if Maleek hadn't, no doubt.

"Maleek, I'm just going to stretch my legs."

"Yeah, all the way out of the castle."

"Maleek come on! I'm fine and I need to get ready to see Axel."

The captain rolls his eyes and puts his one pointer finger on top of the other. "One: you're not all right. You still need some rest, and Two:" he taps his middle finger. "you're plans are not going to be canceled. We're going to hold it here so we can keep an eye on you."

"What? Maleek –" Roxas begins to protest.

"This isn't negotiable."

"Maleek, I told you I'm fine." Roxas nearly growls. Even if he looks like a spoiled child right now he doesn't care. He is not canceling his dinner plans.

"No, you're just stubborn.

Roxas tries to be mischievous as he pouts and purses his lips like a little puppy. But alas, the captain just chuckles. "Nice try."

Roxas thumps his foot to the ground. "Maleek, come on. Please."

"Roxas, no. You're not fine." The captain chuckles.

"But I –!"

Just as Roxas is about to argue, Maleek's hand reaches out, grabs Roxas' shoulder and squeezes. The assassin immediately whimpers as a harsh pain shoots through him, so much that his knees buckle and he collapses into Maleek's strong arms. It wasn't a harsh squeeze, more like something that the elven men do among one another in training. But that didn't hurt nearly as much as his pride as Roxas grips Maleek's white tunic and tries to regain his footing. He looks up to the captain who is still holding a smug smile.

"I ought to punch those white teeth down your throat." He growls.

The smile only grows wider as Maleek uses his other arm to scoop up Roxas' still shaking legs. "I was just emphasizing my point." He chuckles as he starts to carry Roxas back to the bed.

Roxas gives Maleek's shoulder a similar squeeze with his remaining strength as he twines his arms around the captain's neck. "That was some cheap move to prove your point."

"Only because you're stubborn." Maleek repeats. "It would take for your legs to be amputated before you would finally admit you can't walk."

Roxas can't help but laugh with the captain as he gently sets Roxas back down on the bed. He doesn't bother pulling the sheet back over Roxas, but lets the assassin fold his legs under him. Roxas rubs his shoulder and Maleek watches him.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Roxas looks to him, grins like a fiend as he sees the worry in Maleek's eyes. Oh, he is definitely fussing. "My shoulder is a little sore." He says with a small voice, mimicking a young child. "I think I deserve some chocolate to make it better."

Maleek rolls his eyes, smiling as he kisses Roxas on the forehead. Still, the captain asks a servant to bring a bowl of Roxas' favorite candy and wordlessly starts to adjust the pillows. Once the servant arrives with the candy, Roxas happily eats them while Maleek wanders over to the dining table to work on some papers.

Laguna comes in some time later, smiling and cheerful as always. But he comes with something that makes Roxas' inner child burst into excitement.

In his arms, he carries a young puppy.

Roxas immediately gasps as Laguna approaches, making Maleek jerk his head. "Hey, we came to see the little trooper!" Laguna says, using the puppy's paws to wave.

Cecil and Edge were exchanging shifts as he approaches, even they took the time to stop and awe at the adorable puppy.

"I hope you've at least took it out before coming in here." Edge says as he pets the puppy's head.

"Of course I did, Edge. He made the perfect little stool mountain on your carpet." Laguna says. Cecil bursts into laughter at Edge's face, but Laguna quickly dismisses the joke.

"Laguna, I don't want that dog on the bed." Maleek calls from the table.

"Aw come on, Maleek." He says. "Look how happy Roxas is to see him."

The assassin giggles at Maleek, his smile wide as he doesn't take his eyes off of the little ball of fur. Maleek sighs and quickly submits with a wave of his hand and continues on his papers.

Laguna comes up to Roxas' bed, setting the puppy down on the mattress, despite Roxas' outstretched arms. The puppy is a tiny thing, but no doubt will grow into a medium sized dog. It has a mottled patchwork of gray and black with white markings on the face, collar, legs, chest, and underbelly.

"Awe." Roxas coos. He leans down slightly, scratching at the sheets.

The puppy notices him, ears erect and its little stub of a tail wagging as it hobbles along the mattress to the assassin. Roxas pets the puppy, scratching at its ears and its belly when it flops on its side. Its little paws swipe at his hand, nibbling on his fingers, its little hind legs kicking the air.

Roxas scoops up the puppy, supporting its furry bum and holding its underbelly as he had been taught by Vanitas. His heart slightly aches at the memory of Artemis, his beautiful golden dog who was truly the definition of a man's best friend. The puppy has different colored eyes, one a mocha brown, the other a crystal sky blue.

The puppy licks Roxas' chin, its paws on his shoulder. It is so soft and tiny and cute! It almost makes his pain bearable as he rests it against his chest. "Is it a girl or a boy?" Roxas asks.

"It's a boy." Laguna says, sitting on the bed smiling. "They're about five weeks old now."

"When will their training start?" Cecil asks as he comes next to Roxas and scratches the puppy's ear.

"Training?"

"I think in another two weeks, maybe not until they're about year?"

"What training?" Roxas repeats.

"The king has certain jobs here in the castle for certain types of dogs." Cecil answers. "Some compete in competitions, others are made for racing and so on."

"And these breeds are set for herding sheep. Once their training is complete, we usually sell them to farmers out in the country. You would not _believe_ how many sheep they have out there." Laguna adds.

"Seems a little cruel, taking the puppies away from their mother. Does she ever get to spend time with them?"

"Of course." says Laguna. "They go to her for food and nutrients, and she teaches them social skills."

"I still think it's a little mean." Roxas says as he kisses the puppy's head. In return, he gets several excited licks.

"So long as I can get my yearly wool coat and boots, it doesn't matter to me what does round them up in the fields." Kuja's voice chimes. All heads turn and they find the warriors dressed as flamboyant as ever, his silver hair braided into a ponytail down his back. He smiles at everyone.

"Yeah, as long as he gets his fashion of the month, Kuja doesn't care what happens with the rest of the world." Edge rolls his eyes.

"You make me sound like a heartless shrewd, Edge." Kuja says, placing a hand on his chest in exaggerated hurt.

"Not like it's that far from the truth."

Kuja rolls his eyes as he clicks his tongue and turns towards the balcony doors. "I promise you, I care about more than just the latest luxurious." He calls over his shoulder, and the closes the doors behind him.

Edge snorts. "He could've fooled me."

Suddenly the puppy gets excited, and Roxas lowers him down back onto the mattress. He hops his way across the plush, white surface and over to something that wasn't on the bed before.

There on the bed, was a small paper-wrapped box with an elegant looking red ribbon tied around it.

"Oh." Roxas breathes. The puppy immediately seizes the red ribbon, whipping its head and tugging at it. Laguna quickly reprimands the fur ball and scoops up package, handing it to Roxas. The puppy hurries back towards him, hopping on his knees and yelping at him for the box. Roxas chuckles, gently pushing the puppy back with his thigh as he lowers his arm.

The box itself is a work of art, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and Roxas' eyes widen as he tears off the ribbon, tossing it to the puppy who falls over himself trying to catch it. Cecil chuckles and sets the bow on top of the puppy's head, making it fall over itself again. Roxas flips open the lid.

An emerald-and-gold brooch flitters in the golden afternoon light. It is stunning, the work of a master craftsman – and he instantly knew what jackets and tunics it would best complement.

"Wow." Cecil admits with a lift of his eyebrows. "Not bad."

"He didn't have to do this." Roxas says. "Oh, this must've cost a fortune."

"Which is precisely why you're stuck with it." Edge says.

"But I –"

"Ah-ah!" Edge interjects. "No arguments."

"But –!"

"Roxas," Cecil softly coos. "It is a gift. Accept it."

Huffing with annoyance, Roxas claps the lid shut and leans to set it on the end table next to his bed. Cecil is already there, taking the box with extra gentleness and setting it down for Roxas.

"So Maleek, what was it you said about having the dinner here?" Roxas asks.

The captain is pouring over documents and maps of Valendia and its surrounding continents, and doesn't even look up from his seat at the dining table. "Yes, we're having it here in one of the castle's courts. You can still decide whether or not you want us there, but it's highly suggested you do."

"Why not just let them come into my rooms. We'd have more privacy."

"You're lucky we're still letting you even _have_ the dinner after what happened last night." Vincent's voice calls. And there he is just finishing coming up the stairs from the entryway.

Roxas would've laughed, had his body not given a burst of twisting, blinding pain. The puppy immediately hurries over to Roxas, licking his forearm. _That_ is why Roxas allows them all to fuss. After his magical meltdown last night, every inch of his body is sore and stiff. The constant throb and stinging and twisting, the headache between his eyebrows and the little fuzziness in the peripherals of his vision . . . even sliding his gaze across the room made his head spin.

"So you're telling me that whenever someone comes close to a combustion, he not only goes through all this misery, but if he's a youngblood, the males and females all go this berserk?" As Roxas plays with the puppy, he pauses as Cecil hands Roxas his third cup of tea for the day.

Maleek sets down his pen and twists to examine him. " _This_ is hardly berserk. At least you have the capability to defend yourself when your magic is useless. But for some other elves, even if they have weapons and self-defense training, if they can't touch their magic, they're vulnerable, especially if they're completely drained and in pain. That makes most people – males usually, yes – a little edgy."

"Sometimes they become so lost in their magic that they rely on their elven instincts. But even those can be deceived." Laguna chimes. "Others have been known to kill without being able to separate enemy from friend, from a threat real or otherwise."

Roxas leans over to set down his mug of tea, but Vincent it already there moving, so swift that he intercepts his mud before it even hits the table. He takes it from Roxas with surprising gentleness and pours him another cup. "So, magic really can make you insane?"

"It's not just magic. There's also a little bit of a predicament with half-breeds. The demi-elves." Maleek says, leaning against one of the fours wooden posts surrounding his bed. Roxas almost feels claustrophobic with all these males built like walls surrounding him. "For the half-breeds, because they have the capability to shift in between mortal and immortal, sometimes their more . . . animalistic instincts, tend to take over."

As Roxas gulps, the puppy nipping at his finger, Cecil's name is called by Kain, and he dismisses himself. He gives Roxas little brush on the cheek with his finger and joins Kain once again out on the balcony.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that sometimes, if a half-breed stays in his elven form for too long, he starts to become more animal than human. More animal than even elven." Roxas watches carefully as Maleek finally shifts back into his human form. He didn't even notice Maleek had shifted.

"So, you think I'm at that risk?"

Maleek shrugs those broad shoulders. "I don't know. But after last night, I was just worried."

Roxas scratches the puppy behind its ear as he yelps for his attention. He bits his bottom lip as he looks to the available warriors around him. "I just remember I had awoken from a . . . a bad dream and suddenly, I got nauseous and ran to the bathroom. I guess I was really, scared or something because my body was sweating and the next thing I knew, I was burning the tiles of the floor."

Vincent folds his arms, still standing by Roxas' side after he sets the refilled mug back onto the end table. "Did you know your powers were connected to your emotions?"

"I thought that's how all magic was." Roxas says with perplexity.

"Not always." Laguna chimes. He scratches the sheets, luring the puppy over to him. As he scoops it up, he says. "Usually magic for the purebreds or for the half-breeds, it's more like that well we talked about, remember?" Roxas nods. "So it's more like an extra body part controlled by thought and will. Emotions are a rarity –"

"And also a danger." Vincent interjects. "We've seen what you can do, we've seen that uncontrollable anger of yours. It's dangerous."

"All the more reason why I shouldn't use it." Roxas says, casting his eyes to the bed, unphased by Vincent's vague insult.

"You're still going to use it. You're just not going to touch your magic until you've rested for a while. Understand?" says Maleek. Roxas doesn't answer. "Roxas, if you leave it uncontrolled, even in the slightest, if something like this happens again, the results will be even more deadly."

Silence falls over the chamber, and then Roxas finally nods to his agreement. "Okay."

Then Laguna quickly pipers up. "Alright, well I need to get this little guy back to his mom." He rises from the bed, the little puppy nibbling his finger. "Say goodbye." He says as he waves the puppy's paw. Roxas chuckles, giving the little dog's ear one last scratch and one more kiss before Laguna leaves the room.

As Maleek gives Roxas a quick kiss before going back over to the dining table, Vincent brings up a another tray of food, possibly Roxas' lunch. He sets it down and hands Roxas a slice of what smelt like garlic bread and thick mushroom soup. "Here, eat this."

Roxas nearly gags at the sight of the food. "As much as it pains me to say this, if I eat one more bite I'm going to vomit all over the place . . . again." Oh, they were all defiantly fussing, and while it warmed his miserable heart, it was becoming rather irritating.

The bastard just dips the slice of bread into olive oil sprinkled with salt and pepper and parmesan cheese, and holds it out to him. Roxas has never seen – and frankly never thought – that Vincent had such a caring soul inside him.

"You need to keep your energy up. If you're not moving around, you need to eat." He says flatly.

Roxas' stomach betrayed him anyway. When that exquisite smell hit his nose, it's like his stomach was an expert at knowing a whale's mating call. While he ate, the members just stroll around his chambers. He can't help but make the connection of a family hanging around the house. Kuja and Laguna were talking while seated in a couple armchairs, Cecil and Kain having their own conversation with Vincent out on the balcony, Vincent seated in one of the wicker chairs.

"Back to the dinner," Roxas says, mostly diverting it to Vincent, as he is seated napping in an armchair near the bed. Vincent turns his head. "While I know it's best to have you all there, I think it would be too intimidating to the guys, and in turn, they might be hesitant to speak about some things."

"A little intimidation never hurt." Vincent answers. As Roxas goes to set his now emptied plate down, Vincent takes it instead, setting it down gently.

"Yes, but knowing you all and your Elven territorial nonsense," at that Maleek cocks his head in their direction. "I don't want them to be scared to speak because they're worried that you'll rip out their throats."

"We would never hurt them."

"I know, but still, they don't know that. And with the way Axel is, I know he'll have certain questions."

"If you feel he is a threat to the captain –"

"No, no. It's not that." Roxas dismisses. He casts a quick glance to Maleek, who knows that even if the conversation is about him, doesn't pay any heed.

"Then you're more worried about him asking about Maleek?"

A pause. "Yes."

Even if some of the other members brushed friendly kisses on his cheek, Roxas knew they had figured out the relationship between him and the captain. They were to be discovered eventually, but Roxas only wished it was under better circumstances. According to what Kiros had told him, Maleek's feelings to Roxas was greatly obvious as he refused to leave his side and that he _growled_ at some of the members. Well, at least it's one less secret that he has to keep. He hated being secretive with Axel and the crew.

"If you're confident with what you have, then there's no need to be worried. And if you're worried about him arguing, if at any time you feel uncomfortable . . ."

"It's a strange thought." Roxas snorts. "To think I'd be uncomfortable with him, after everything."

"But you have found someone new."

Both males cast their glance to Maleek, just finishing up his papers as he signs another piece of parchment. "And I am forever grateful." Roxas finishes.

"You know he's been happier since your arrival." Vincent says. Roxas turns his head to the male, still dazzled by those amazing eyes and his night black hair. "When he heard about you being sent to Gollund, he spent countless nights looking for ways to free you."

"As I'm sure Axel did too, but is his note what made the king free me?"

Vincent shrugs those broad shoulders. "I'm not sure. We weren't allowed to look over the documents, for obvious reasons. But I'd like to think it did. The king would go to Maleek for an opinion when it comes to certain matters."

"It sounds like Maleek is really running the country if the king goes to him for every little thing." Roxas chuckles.

"It's not like that." Vincent smiles. "Maleek is skilled and you know it. He's also been attempting to help the King with the war effort, and we're supposed to be getting soldiers from Kingdom Hearts, too."

"Really?" Roxas' throat tightens instantly at the mention of his homeland.

Immediately the name brings forth pictures of Twilight Town. His beautiful birthplace painted in gold, orange, and tan-brown. He can see the giant clock tower he would stand on top of for hours, gazing down at the city that he once thought would belong to his father. He can smell the sea-salt ice cream that Lexaeus would secretly bring him on his birthday.

His hometown, his homeland. So painfully far from him. It feels as if it's been eons since he's set foot on Twilight Town's soil.

His eyes water, and before he can stop them, they spill over and drip onto the back of his hand. He sniffles, his nose already congested. Maleek's head turns, but he doesn't rise from his chair. Roxas doesn't care if Vincent sees him or mocks him. The pain of homesickness is the same as the pain of loss; because he too has lost his home. Even if the king had forgiven him, even if his father is a part of the king's royal court, it still feels as if he is forbidden to set foot on the soil for reasons he can't explain. It's almost like he is an outsider now.

He keeps sniffling, until something soft brushes against his cheek and he looks to find Vincent with a handkerchief in his hand. Roxas takes it with a nod and blows his nose. He allows himself to cry, let the pain of homesickness run its course.

"I am sorry." Is all Vincent says.

It perplexes Roxas, and yet he wonders if Vincent must understand what it must be like to leave your homeland and not see it for so long. It's a miracle that Roxas remembers anything at all. He thought he would've forgotten what his town even looked like after so much time has passed. But everything is clear and vivid like his immortal vision. He can still see streets of which he was forced to memorize as a child, picture the Sandlot with children playing about with wooden swords, vendors in the marketplace selling their wares.

A warm arm wraps around his shoulders and Roxas looks to find Maleek. He has a sad smile on his face. Leaning out, Vincent's chair is vacant, but he hears the click of his boots grow distant.

Roxas lets himself lean into Maleek and warp his arms around the captain's torso. His muscles are so firm and strong, like holding the strength of a mountain, but having the gentleness of a timid breeze in the summer. Because the Thirteen are present, he can't burrow his hands under Maleek's shirt, but he can imagine.

Maleek kisses Roxas' head and Roxas pulls him further into the bed. The smell of his cologne is soothing, and Roxas just imagines running his fingers over Maleek's back. Going off their sessions of intimacy, the skin was surprisingly smooth, sculpted, and solid. Compared to his own, Roxas was self-conscious; his skin callus and scared, the whip lashings looking like the claws of some animal. But then to feel Maleek's callus hand tracing down his spine.

Gods, just thinking about it makes his skin tingle.

"I promise you, Roxas," Maleek whispers, the gruff of his tone reverberating through Roxas' bones. "I promise I will take you home, someday. You deserve it."

Roxas exhales, sounding similar to a sob and a laugh. Nestling into Maleek's neck, Roxas almost purrs as Maleek's lips kiss the top of his head. Roxas is about to reply, but his front doors open and everyone instantly snaps at attention, some hands drifting to the hilt of their swords. But they suddenly stand rigid, bowing low as the King and Queen of Valendia come up the steps. Roxas' heart jumps, but he immediately smiles as the Queen approaches, arms spread, eyes gleaming, but a smile on her face.

Judging from the style of her dress – an ecru, loose fitted gown that while it was still slim, was made to look styled with lace overlay and around the neckline. Accompanied with sparkling bangles and diamond earrings, the dress passed perfect for a formal dinner with acquaintances. She envelops Roxas in a hug, of which he wraps one arm around her, patting her back.

"Oh Roxas, thank goodness!" She breathes, choking back a sob. "How are you? How're you feeling? Are you sore? Can you walk?"

There's a gathered giggle from the queen's spastic nature, but the king simply lays a hand on her shoulder as he stands next to her. "Calm down my pet, give him some air to breathe." King Sephiroth chuckles.

The Queen sighs, droops her shoulders, and runs her long nails through her gleaming green hair. She sits on the edge of the bed and rubs the skirt of her nightgown, tucking it under her thighs. "I'm sorry. Are you feeling okay, Roxas?"

He gives the queen a gentle smile. "Feeling a little sore, but I'm alive." He amuses. Turning to the king, Roxas' heart skips a beat as he licks his lips. "I want to apologize for what happened, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble and panic, a-and if you need me to pay for the tiles I had burned –"

"Roxas," King Sephiroth holds up his hand, ceasing Roxas immediately. "everything is fine, I promise you. You have nothing to worry about, and certainly nothing to pay for. We're all just glad you're alright."

Just as Roxas is about to ask why, curiosity driving him, he bites his lip to stop his words. Why would the king be so concerned? The Queen he can wrap his head around, and yet for King Sephiroth . . .? To him, Roxas is just an assassin who is wrapped around his long-nailed finger because his freedom is on the line should he not become the leader of The Thirteen. Yes, he rescued him from Gollund Mines, yes he could've picked anyone else, but what made Roxas so special? That one question that keeps coming up, and keeps going unanswered. Could it have been Maleek's letters and informative of him? Frankly that would've made it worse.

Roxas swallows thickly. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Please Roxas, call me Sephiroth."

This time, Roxas can't swallow his surprise as he looks to Maleek. The captain simply shrugs his shoulders, and turns away towards the dining table where a servant following the King and Queen had placed a fruit basket.

"I would hope you are still, healthy enough, to host your dinner tonight." says the Queen.

"I hope that's okay, Your Majesty. Please understand that I intended to have it in town, but after last night –"

"No, no, no." Queen Rydia shushes Roxas. "Goodness you need to stop babbling. It is fine, Roxas. They are more than welcome to come."

His shoulders slump, cheeks rather pink at how forgiving the king and queen are unexpectedly being."

"Are you going to be strong enough for dinner?" Sephiroth asks.

"I believe so. I've eaten all day, and they've –" Roxas points around the room to the Thirteen set on guard like dogs around his room. "– been consistent with not letting me out of bed."

"Oh that's ridiculous." King Sephiroth snorts. "You're a young boy, you need to walk around. Stretch your legs."

Roxas chuckles. "And I certainly wouldn't want my fellow companions to see me bed-ridden. They would never let me live it down."

"What time is the dinner?"

"It is going to be at five o'clock."

"Hmm, you only have three more hours until they arrive. The hall is all set up, but have you even set a foot out of bed?" Sephiroth asks.

Roxas simply looks to Maleek at the table, now munching on a watermelon slice shaped like a fish. He shrugs to the king before finishing chewing and swallowing. "I wanted to make sure he was rested. And I stand by my word."

Sephiroth rolls his eyes smiling. "Come Roxas, I think it's about time we stretch those legs of yours." He holds out his hand to Roxas, and the queen gets up from her spot on the bed. Roxas looks to Sephiroth's hand, then to Maleek who only shrugs his shoulders once more, not willing to argue with the king. Either that or he actually thinks Roxas is healthy enough to get out of bed.

Roxas takes the king's, rough and callus in all of the places where the hilt of a sword or dagger would sit. Finally, he pushes back the covers and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. Only then does the worry cease him, but only for a moment, as his legs are strong, even if a little sore when he bends at the knee. But the pain is not different than a four hour workout, of which he has survived before. He'll be fine.

After pacing between the bed and the dining table, regaining the familiar gait of his walk, he trudges over to the dressing room. Even if he's accompanying the king, it's still within the castle walls, therefore, he doesn't need to dress up. That and he is still too exhausted to care about how he looks until dinner. So he throws on a mango-colored shirt, some close fitting pants, and leather boots that reach his knees.

Walking out, he's rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, sparing his onlookers a smile. He manages to strap a belt of daggers and kiss Maleek goodbye before meeting the king down by the fountain. The servants have done an amazing job of cleaning up whatever mess he had left behind. No scorch marks, no dead fish, clean and clear water still flowing.

Sephiroth is already waiting for him by the doors. He has his hands folded in front of him, and a smile on his face.

Though he is built of strength, grace and poise, he can easily cross the line of intimidation. Apart from his elven features, he is a tall man with a muscular build; those green cat-like eyes boring into anyone's soul. Even his style could be intimidating, if not to enemies, it can be to nobles and other rivalry dignitaries.

Today he wears a long black coat with silver pauldrons, black boots and black trousers. The top of his coat is open to reveal his broad chest, with his leather suspenders crossed over it. Though they do little to hide some of the scars, no doubt earned in battle. His bangs seem shorter than the last time he's seen him.

A seven-foot long sword is strapped to his back. The blade gleams in the light, curving downward from his back. Roxas' breath hitches. He knew that blade. It was the blade that has ended countless lives on killing fields, executed the worst of the criminals, and yet it still retains its shine as if it was just newly created by a skilled blacksmith. Masamune.

Reaching the end of the stairs, Roxas can't help his hands as they slightly shake. King Sephiroth. A great warrior idolized by the public and infantrymen alike, for his strength and discipline in combat.

Guards from the outside open up the doors and King Sephiroth ushers Roxas out first. While he feels weary of leaving Queen Rydia and the Thirteen in his chambers, he assumes they'll either leave him alone, or just go about guarding his rooms.

Sephiroth leads the couple, Roxas wordlessly following behind, admiring the king's chiseled jawline. It feels as if he is walking beside a mountain with silver rivers. "I presume things are going well with the coven?" he asks.

"Well, they haven't snagged on me yet." Roxas says. "They're actually acting more . . . kin-like than I expected."

"You're surprised."

"In honesty, yes." Roxas chuckles. "I mean, I assumed they were all stuck up, and kind of, judgmental. I thought they would bully me and prod at me to make me snap."

"They know better than to do that." Sephiroth mumbles. "You're not some mongrel if that's what you think. We don't judge on breed."

They pass under an archway and into an open chamber with domed ceilings. Roxas' breathe leaves him as he finds them in the music room. Instruments from all around the continent of Ivalice are here, each a proud representation of their country, built in wood, or metal. From grand pianos and harpsichords from Ivalice, to lutes and lyres of Galtea, flutes and oboes and clarinets of Kerwon, and trumpets and horns of Ordallia. All together they are gathered in the grand music room of Valendia's castle, mixed with Valendia's stringed instruments of violins, violas and massive cellos.

Roxas assumes the ones mounted on the wall aren't for playing, but merely observation, but that doesn't stop him from walking over to the black shiny grand piano seated in the corner like a squat gentleman. With the lid lifted and the bench pulled out, it was too tempting. He merely hears the king chuckle as he leans over the keyboard.

"I was told you like to play," says Sephiroth. "I hadn't known assassin knew anything else but killing."

"Most don't," Roxas admits. "but my father wanted me to have a redeemable skill next to killing. And since I can't sing to save my life, and I only prefer to dance at parties, this was the only other option."

"You love music." The king says. It was more of a statement than a question.

Roxas looks to Sephiroth, his fingers hovering ever so slightly over the white keys. "Yes. I dare say I love it more than love itself."

"Maleek had said you played beautifully."

"I was a fast learner." He replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well please; indulge me." The king smiles.

Hesitant, Roxas trails his fingers over the keys, looking for the right section to start. He's never wanted to play for anyone other than Ventus. The boy's pure spirit seeming to match the instrument itself. That look of wonder in his eyes at Roxas' skill.

He decides on the song that he used to play for his father while they would be in his study.

It starts with a clang of organized notes, trailing down octaves before trickling back up the higher spectrum. Soon, he forgets everything, and some otherworldly force takes over his fingers.

As the tinkle of piano notes trickle through the room, the king leans in, entranced by the piano as music poured from it. With Roxas' hands trailing back and forth over the keys, he plays a warbling of piano notes.

The music picks up, the pattern of trickling notes matching Roxas' movements. His hands seem to float over the piano keys. And the way he moved, jerky and quick between smooth slow-motion moments. An interlude of high notes trickle forth in a complicated pattern, accented by a few well-placed chords from the instrument's lower spectrum.

This mixture of dark and light, high and low, hope and despairs, works its hypnotic effect on the king, as though he were a small child listening to an intricate story.

Roxas let his imagination control his hands as they danced across the white and black key. Pictures and images of Maleek flashing through his mind. He let his emotions fuel the notes, fuel the song as he plays back his life through the notes.

The unrelenting pleasure he felt, the pain, the freedom. He let it course through his body, his veins as he closes his eyes for a better canvas. Rocking forward and back ever so slightly as he played.

King Sephiroth listens, hypnotized, as the piano carries on. The boy has amazing skill, the king of skill that makes a person think he was born with it, only to be enhanced and explored through lessons. He hasn't seen or heard such beauty, such passion in a long time. It must run in the family, because it must be inherited. No one can train to be as passionate and as involved.

Then, the music fades off, ending in a sharp clang of keys as though something about the song's execution had frustrated the composer. Roxas opens his eyes and found his hands slightly shaking and his heartbeat slowing down from the initial rush.

The room has gone needle drop silent. Roxas withdrew his hands from the piano. He looks to the king, his eyes shining. He sadly smiles. "Incredible."

Roxas shyly returns the gesture, a little more than disturbed by the way the king is looking at him. Not just looking _at_ him, but looking as if he can see something familiar inside of him, see something that not even Roxas knew was inside him.

"How young were you when you started playing?"

"I was about thirteen. And it carried through, well, until last year." Sephiroth nods, but doesn't reply. Roxas rises from the bench and fidgets with his hands. "Well uh, are we going anywhere else?"

"Yes, would you like to go through the garden?"

Roxas nods and follows the king through a set of large glass doors out onto the balcony and a set of stairs leading down into another entrance of the garden. It looked spectacular with the different autumn colors throughout the trees and burning bushes. All of them are nearly gone now, mostly scattered on the ground or already had been raked away into the trash. Now there's nothing but skeletal remains of the dark trees, currently naked until winter would come to decorate it in a thick blanket of snow.

They walk in admiring silence, Roxas more focused on his muscles than actually walking with the king. As they pass by a clearing, a gorgeous white pavilion set next to a pond, Roxas notices that the same tapestry as from the kitchen is hanging along one side. He sees the phoenix bird with its wings spread, its tail fanning out beneath. Smooth flames spit out embers that sparkle on the tapestry. As it disappears behind the entrance wall, Roxas looks to the king, the evening sun making his skin as smooth as his marble castle.

"If I may ask, Sephiroth," the king turns to the assassin, his hands held behind his back. He peers to the assassin with raised brows. "I was told that your current god, isn't your god at all. But the god of Galtea. What happened to yours? Did you just stop worshipping him?"

"No, never. It is true, our god _is_ the Bird of Fire. But we came to the decision to, set him aside and adopt Galtea's god, The Stag as a form of finality against Kerwon."

"Seems like a rather risky maneuver. I'd imagine not many of your citizens weren't too happy setting aside their god for another."

"On the contrary, Roxas, they were more than willing. I never asked them to _stop_ their worship of our god, but merely include in with Galtea's. After Kerwon started our war, they sent a letter to me, demanding that I pick a side to whom I will aid in the war. Rather than settle with a meaningless reply, I like to make more of a statement. And so, I sent a letter to the King of Galtea and he was, honored, if I remember, that we wanted to accept their god as our own."

Roxas chuckles, tugging his cloak around himself. "That is quite the statement, and to have everyone agree with it."

"Well not everyone, but at least they were tolerable. We didn't give up on our own gods, and we've given support to Galtea." Sephiroth smiles, his curtain of silver hair swaying as he walks.

"What exactly, is the story of Luminos, the Fire Bird of Valendia then?"

The king looks to Roxas with pleased surprise. "I'm surprised you knew the name, it seems too long ago that I've heard his name. Shameful of me, really."

"I, uh, like my history."

"Well," Sephiroth sighs. "The story takes place back when the gods were living on this earth, each ruling over the domain that they claim today. Darkness spread across the continent, as Bahamut decided to stretch his territorial boundaries."

"Bahamut? The Dragon Lord of Kerwon?"

"Yes. He wanted to spread his influence, but took the wrong approach. Sides quickly formed and all of Ivalice became a bloodbath as they tore each other to pieces. Stories tell of how the Stag of Galtea led his warriors into battle in the night, their arrows shooting like stars across the night sky. The Chocobo of Ivalice dashing across the plains to aid the Stag. Bahamut gained the allegiance of Ordallia and Romanda."

As Sephiroth speaks, Roxas can see the battle before him. Bahamut's roar rattling the sky, the white Stag bounding through the trees and launching himself antlers first at the dragon. The Chocobo and its powerful legs stomping on Bahamut's army of shadowed men.

"All the while, they never once breached Valendia's border. And it's because of Luminos, the Fire Bird God, did we succeed. Because you see, a phoenix cannot be killed and the dragon's fire only made it stronger. They say that the great bird rose to the sky, breaching past the clouds and casting away the night. It spread its wings and unleashed its power upon those who opposed it."

Roxas can see the sun rising at the great bird's command. A wave of fire rippling across green fields and scorching the shadowed soldiers, turning into nothing more than ash.

"That must've been some casualty." Roxas mumbles. He could've sworn that as they passed a gathering of weeping willows, the vines of the trees reached out to touch his arm and shoulder.

"It was a bittersweet victory. As the Great Fire Bird had burned himself out. Once the land was reduced in ash, he crashed into the earth, creating a massive quarter, known today, as Hellfire Mountain." King Sephiroth continues. "Weak and willowing, the bird rallied the last of his strength and flew out across all of Ivalice. Only this time, the bird's flames were set in blue and green. It flew into the sky, shedding its ashes like old skin. The stars scattered out of its, way and a wave of water washed over the land. Immediately, the grass began to grow back, trees sprouted from the earth, flowers blooming among the black. The bird traveled across each and every continent giving new life to destroyed wasteland.

"Beauty and rebirthing trailed in its wake. Bugs and birds and flowers and animals came back, and the rivers drained away the blood. Once it returned to Valendia, it decorated Hellfire Mountain in luscious blooms, the green reaching the tip of the mouth. And then, the Great Fire Bird dissipated into ashes at the bottom of the mountain."

Roxas is left speechless.

"Some still say that they can feel the earth rumble beneath their feet. As if the Great bird is preparing to remerge into this world once more."

"I thought that the bird couldn't die, I thought –" One look at the king, and Roxas chuckles to himself. "He was reborn into the Elves." He finishes himself.

"Indeed. He created the first of the Elven kind. Legends say they drank the blood of the bird, to preserve their immortality."

"Do you believe it?"

Sephiroth shrugs. "I don't have anything to go against it. And it would make sense of everything else in my family."

"How so?" Roxas asks.

"As you know, certain breeds of elves were given elemental powers. The Gainsborough bloodline was given the gifts of fire; and some like to speculate that some of us are direct descendants of the Fire Bird himself."

"Do you believe it?"

"I do. You see on the year that the royal children were sixteen, they were hold a ceremony. A ceremony in which they would each hold a piece of dry paper into their hands, and if it bloomed into a flame, then they would be the chosen heir to the throne of Valendia."

Roxas' throat tightens and he almost trips. The images of his dream floor forward, but he so desperately tries to hold them back before he jumps to any conclusions. Perhaps it was a ceremony that had gotten adopted by the villagers, just for celebration. "How many times has that happened?"

"Every king of Valendia was gifted with the Fire Bird's powers."

"Including you?"

King Sephiroth stops, and Roxas stops with him. The king's gaze is cast to the ground, his face forlorn. "I am the last of the Gainsborough bloodline that have the fire of the Phoenix. While I am still young in both mortal and immortal age, we need to have an heir to the throne."

"Why would no other kind of king be acceptable?"

"Tradition among the kingdom. Every time there was a king with the Fire of the Phoenix, the kingdom was prosperous. I don't know if it is superstition, or tradition, but it's the reason why the queen and I can't adopt. It's the reason we are desperate to have an heir to the throne. It's the reason why my wife is depressed."

"She doesn't seem like it."

"She's just excellent at pushing it away. Gods," Sephiroth rubs the outside of his mouth. "she so desperately wants a child. But her body can't handle it. And without adoption, what else is there for us to do?"

"The power you have shouldn't be the one to declare you king. It's just birthrights. I understand if the kingdom was prosperous while your rein ruled, then a certain superstition could arise. But it shouldn't be the thing that rules your life."

"Believe me it is not, we've had a fair handful of immortal rulers on the throne who didn't have the gift, and it didn't affect the kingdom at all."

"Is it a matter of immortality?" Roxas asks.

Sephiroth simply shrugs, his eyes still cast to the ground. "It is my belief, youngblood. We've always had immortals on the throne, purebloods. And I believe it's caused a matter of discrimination. And while it is tradition, I want to adopt; so that I might have a child that attributes to all races. There were even sayings that if the king was killed, like the Phoenix, he would rise from the ashes. Anew. But that alone is an incredible rarity. Not seen since the first himself."

"The Phoenix King." Roxas mumbles.

King Sephiroth chuckles. "You know your history."

"There hasn't been another Phoenix King?"

"Not for a thousand years."

"If I may say, Sephiroth, there's nothing wrong with breaking tradition. Maybe you can be the first to change things."

"Perhaps," Sephiroth looks to Roxas with that same deepening stare. "but I know it is not my place."

"What? What do you –?"

"Enough of this rather depressing talk, come," he says brightly. "I have some more, exciting news for you."

"What is it?" Roxas asks as the king takes his shoulder and they start walking together. He doesn't take his hand off, and strangely, Roxas doesn't mind. It just sits there, casually; he doesn't tug Roxas closer, and yet it's comfortable.

"Well, the Queen and I were hoping to hold an intimate dinner with you and the coven, but with your already scheduled plans, we had to reconsider."

"Oh, I'm sorry, had I known –"

"We planned it far too late." Sephiroth interjects with a chuckle. "Trust me, its fine."

As they make their way back to the castle, they end up passing Roxas' rooms, of which the doors have been left open. The guards are still there, but they inform the king and the assassin that the coven moved with the queen to her court.

Roxas still lets Sephiroth lead, and when they find the open marble doors of Queen Rydia's court, they hear the sound of a harp playing, the chandeliers dimmed to a comfortable lighting, and there are The Thirteen seated at a long table, eating a delicious meal.

Heads turn and Maleek is the first to get up and greet Roxas and the king. They brush kisses on the cheek and Maleek instantly takes Roxas' hand, guiding him towards the table.

"Is everything okay?" he whispers.

"Yeah, everything's fine." Roxas says.

"What did you talk about?"

"I don't see how that's your business." Roxas grins like a fiend. "It's confidential between the king and I."

"I'm not afraid to lust it out of you if I have to." Maleek replies, his eyes filled with hunger. Roxas' skin tingles. He kisses Roxas' forehead, their hands still laced together. They sit down as Laguna motions them.

"What's going on?" Maleek asks the male.

"Sephiroth did say they had a surprise to announce." Roxas answers.

"Really?"

Then, Sephiroth takes Queen Rydia's hand, pulls her from her seat and wraps his hand around her waist. She smiles, looking to Roxas, her teeth sparkling.

"We have an announcement to make." Sephiroth says.

Heads turn to the couple and Rydia's hand drifts to her stomach. Roxas' heart triples in speed, and he can't stop his smile as the assumption enters his head before she even speaks the words.

Queen Rydia then says, "I am with child."


	52. Chapter 25 (Part Two)

Kuja was the first one to run and hug the queen with excited, congratulatory words. Roxas waits until Kuja has stepped away to be the next one. He can barely contain his excitement, the goofy smile on his face, or the little bounce in his feet as he embraces the Queen in a hug.

"Oh my gods, congratulations!" Roxas beams as he and the Queen rock back and forth. "Oh my goodness, this is –!" he looks to the Queen and King. "This is incredible!"

He steps back and walks over to the king as Maleek goes and hugs the queen next.

"I thought you had implied . . ."

King Sephiroth nods his head with a smile. "I'm glad you fell for it, I've been working on my deception skills."

"Not exactly a pleasant skill to have." Roxas smiles, King Sephiroth nods his head as Cecil hugs Queen Rydia next. He can't help but feel a small pinch of disturbance broil in his stomach. "Sephiroth," he brings his voice to a whisper, "is something wrong?"

Sephiroth merely shakes his head and brightens his smile as Vincent comes over to hug him. Roxas decides to leave it as he feels a hand on his shoulder. He looks to find Maleek with a smile. Hugs are just going all around, so Roxas chuckles as he hugs Maleek.

"As much as I want you to enjoy the celebration, I believe you have a dinner to attend." He says. Roxas' heart skips a beat, and Maleek kisses his forehead. "Go ahead and change, and I'll show you the room."

"Oh, okay."

With final kisses on the cheeks and another congratulatory hug, everyone files out of Roxas' chambers as the assassin goes into his dressing room with two servants and prepares his attire. He's torn between wearing something fancy, or something casual. If he were to wear something fancy, would they take it as a sign of him showing off? Casual seems logical, but he just doesn't want to let these beautiful clothes go to waste.

He lets the servants handle it as they take him towards the bathing chamber. Within the span of twenty minutes, they scrub him with a sweet soap smelling of lavender, and proceed to massage and wash his hair. When he comes out, he finds a royal blue tunic with gold embroidery along the hemline and the cuffs of the sleeves. It lies next to a pair of pale grey pants and polished black boots on his bed.

Pulling them on, he gave the servants credit as to how well the color complimented his eyes. And the gold detailing reflects in his hair. Both the shirt and pants are fitted, framing his torso and legs well, the boots reaching his knees. He fetches Oathkeeper, and a belt of daggers around his waist. A cloak would complete the attire, but it would make little sense when inside.

His door opens again and in steps Maleek dressed, casual for his case, a simple black tunic with that familiar neckline that dips low enough to reveal the snippets of his tattoo. He only smiles at Roxas as he holds the door open for him and the two walk out and down the halls towards the tea court that the king and queen had set up.

As they turn a corner and the hallway opens up with more windows, his eyes immediately dart to the open doors at the far end on the left-hand side. His feet pick up pace as excitement builds until he's jogging towards the doors. The moment he reaches the threshold, his nose is assaulted with glorious scents of food.

He was expecting some kind of outrageous theme, but Maleek must've spoken to the servants about Roxas' taste and left the room as it is.

It almost gave off a no-touchy, done in antique gold and soft blues with hardwood inlay floor, heavy draperies, and fancy old chairs. In one corner, like a squat gentlemen in a tuxedo, stands a polished black piano. Thick velvet draperies spill from tall windows, like motionless waterfalls colored pale turquoise. The smell of wine mingles with the scent of the rich food. More blue-and-gold-lined draperies hang suspended from the vaulted ceilings. A warm fire crackling in the grand fireplace. The strass crystal chandelier with its myriad faceted crystal spheres, has a wondrous effect on the energy in a room.

Roxas enters, smiling ear to ear as the room strangely feels like home. Done in his favorite colors, the windows lining the walls gave enough light to make it relaxing, and the plush furniture provides the perfect setting for reading.

The table lined at the center of the room is overflowing with food. A crown roast, filet tied with rosemary and exotic dishes. A large bird stuffed with dressing and pears, resting on peacock feathers arranged to resemble a live bird's open tail. And sparkling candies shaped like hearts.

"Wow." Roxas breathes, a hand on his chest.

"You like it?"

He turns to find Maleek gripping the back of the chair seated at the head of the table. Roxas nods. "It's, perfect. I expected something extravagant."

Maleek chuckles and makes his way over to Roxas. The assassin turns and smiles as he feels Maleek's callus fingertips brush his cheek and his lips find his immediately. Roxas' arms reach up and twine around Maleek's neck, his fingers entangling themselves in his soft hair.

Roxas allows himself to melt away from the world and indulge in the glorious pleasure that is Maleek. He giggles when he feels Maleek's hands wander down and cup and squeeze his bum, smiling through their kiss.

When they part, Maleek brushes a small set of Roxas' bangs off of his forehead. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"There's no point in avoiding the inevitable. Besides, I need answers." Roxas says. "Am I allowed to share what I've learned with them?"

"Only if you feel you can trust them."

Roxas bites his bottom lip. Never in his life did he think he would ever have to question his trust with his friends. But so many events have led up to this moment, Roxas doesn't even know if he can trust himself. He clearly can't tell friend from foe; it's a miracle he even opened himself up to Maleek, allowed himself to be looked at from deep inside.

He never wanted anyone to see the darkest parts of him. Whether it was being a brutal, monstrous killer, or being an immortal being with destructive powers. He knew they would all run away.

Everyone he's met, everyone that he's let in, they've all left a scar in their own way.

He had let Axel track the depths of his soul until he found it. That darkened room locked away inside of him, containing all of the memories, all of the pain and agony of names that he can't bear to give voice to.

He let Axel in, and then he turned away. His makeshift savior had left him in his chains.

Clenching his fist, Roxas sighs through his nose as he feels Maleek tentatively grasp his chin. Roxas allows him to angle his head so he is looking up into the captain's sapphire eyes. "Do you want us there?" he asks, dropping his hand.

Averting his eyes, Roxas focuses on a small section of the floor. Maleek doesn't say anything and allows the silence to grow palpable between them. Then, Roxas looks up and nods his head. "I think I do."

"Things could get heated."

"As I expect. They won't be happy to see you, but you're the only person they are, hopefully still feel comfortable around. I'm sure they're just as eager to hear secrets with you as I am to them."

"So I'll just stand off in the shadows and watch, until you want me to speak?"

"I guess." Roxas shrugs. "If that's okay."

"If it is what you want."

"And I want to invite Kain and Cecil. They can guard outside, and if things really get out of hand, I want them to escort them out, not the guards."

"Okay."

Smiling, Roxas turns away from the captain to survey the room again. The sunlight glitters the white floor and along the glass of the windows.

His heart is still pattering in his chest, but at least he knows Maleek will be there to help him. Sighing, Roxas squares his shoulders as he shifts into his elven form, the sounds of clopping hooves reaching his elven ears.

* * *

As Axel stands in front of the cherry wood mirror, his heart won't stop beating like a jackrabbit. They had gotten the invitation mod-morning saying that the dinner was going to be held in the castle at five in the evening. Axel was a little nervous, as they had heard a strange rumble coming from the castle just last night. It caught the attention of a few spectators as well, and the castle itself seemed to glow a strange pale orange. But it quickly dissipated like a dying flame, and the castle resumed its white exterior.

The entire mansion that Reno has in Valendia is running rampant. As Axel expected, Reno has an opulent house in the Royal City, set at least a long stone's throw from the castle's main gates. Everyone in the house is scrambling to get ready and to make sure they have everything. Since it's being held at the castle, Reno assured that everyone dress presentable.

Though knowing Roxas, he'll probably be dressed in a fancy tunic. He never was one to wear clothing that screams all about his wealth.

Axel adjusts the cuffs of his dark green jacket, fixing the gold buttons and pulling at the hemline of his tunic underneath. It was a fair outfit, nothing like his clothes when he was sailing on the sea. A white tunic under his green jacket, a pair of dark blue trousers and black boots.

His hair has grown out, though Reno arranged to have it trimmed, so now it sits perfectly on his shoulders – when he has sit down. Now it sits in a low ponytail down his neck, tied by a black ribbon.

Thinking about Roxas, seeing the way he was when they met outside of Deep Blue, Axel still can't believe how healthy he looks. How intimidating he was in his elven form, which he now wears as a second skin, and how stunning he was in that detailed armor. But it does little to quell the nausea that tightens his stomach when he thinks of how Roxas had to have looked while in labor at the mines. It's sickening.

To think that Roxas was bone-thin, his skin pale as ash with his face gaunt and haunted. Bruises and scabs all around his body, and the whippings . . .

No doubt Roxas had been whipped, and Axel wants to see them for himself. If he could, he would've ripped that camp down and burned it all.

Then there's Maleek, that pretty boy assassin, who Axel still can't believe is not only Captain of the Royal Valendian Guard, but also Elven as well! He'll no doubt be there, which is fine. He can answer to Axel for what he's done to Roxas. That being how they've gotten uncomfortably close.

There's a knock on his door and when it opens inward, Sora's head pop in. His brown spikes are groomed nicely and Axel can see the collar of a dark blue tunic under his black jacket. He has an excited smile on his face as he comes in. Axel smiles back as he turns back to the mirror.

For a moment, he can see Roxas standing next to him, sheltered behind his shoulder. Only his eyes and his hair peak over the edge, and they squint as if he is smiling. Then Sora comes in and the imaginary Roxas dissipates into a cloud of fog.

Sora smiles at their reflections. "I can't believe we're going to see Roxas; and after so long."

"Well, technically we're seeing him again."

"The first time didn't count. He was with the Queen of Valendia, and the Prince of Galtea! He wasn't acting like himself, or how he normally would if he saw us." Sora turns to Axel. "Now we can see him as himself."

"I sure hope so." The redhead sighs as he turns away from the mirror and takes a seat on the couch near the fireplace.

"I'm going to check on Vanitas, remember to be down in the entrance hall by four-thirty." Sora sighs. Axel gives a wave of his hand and lets the silence envelope him once Sora's footsteps grow quiet.

Staring at the details of his rug, Axel can't quench the thirst he has to see Roxas. He's going to finally see his long lost love, after so many months. Of course, he refuses to face the fact that Roxas could not be _his_ love anymore. It can't be. Roxas must be confused, he _must_ be. He was locked in Gollund Mines for months, and the first person to come and rescue him would of course earn his feelings. It's all just a façade. He loves what Maleek _did_ for him.

 _He still loves me. He has to. He_ has _to_.

Fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket, Axel feels regretful as the image of Roxas in his head is still gaunt and haunted with the images of a poor starving boy with scars on his wrist from shackles, his hands callus from holding a pickax. Even after he had seen Roxas at Deep Blue, he still can't picture him happy or healthy.

And to see him in his elven form, he was even more beautiful, and it made Axel's chest unexpectedly heavy. To see him so happy without him, Axel doesn't even want to accept it, to allow it.

Looking to the grandfather clock in his room, it reads four twenty-five. Sighing, Axel stands up and adjusts the collar of his jacket. He opens his door and heads down the steps into the entrance hall of the mansion. Coming down the stairs, he passes under the archway that divides the staircase from the rest of the room. There he sees everyone ready to enter the castle. Sora is helping Vanitas adjust his tie, a deep red jacket with gold epaulettes and a white and blue stripped sash across his chest.

Axel is surprised but pleased when he sees the boy actually conversing with Sora, a faint smile on his lips and a familiar twinkle in his eye. Perhaps seeing Roxas was more awakening for him than Axel thought.

When they had gotten back from running into Roxas at the marketplace, Vanitas had come home and went up to his room. Initially, everyone was worried about him, but when Sora went to check on him thirty minutes later, he found Vanitas lying on the bed just smiling up at the ceiling with dried tears on his face. His cheeks were red and his nose was congested. At least he was happy.

His brother is there as well, wearing the same black and white suit with the shirt untucked. Axel would've commented on how underdressed he seems, and no doubt Sora would've too; but since Reno has visited the castle more than once, they're probably used to his laid-back attire and personality.

Reno's head turns as Axel's footsteps reach his ears as well as Sora and Vanitas. Riku is there as well, dressed in exquisite clothing and adjusting his hair. He had gotten it trimmed since Axel had last seen him, which was yesterday. Sora probably made him get it cut, it was rather long. What was silver hair down to his shoulders, is now reduced to the ends tickling the tips of his ears. It makes him look relatively younger, or at least look his own age.

Reno is the first to approach him, a smile on his face and one hand in the pocket of his pants. The invitation is tucked in the inside pocket of his suit. It's a stunning little thing: thick parchment with elegant handwriting of the king, a ribbon of mother-of-pearl tied around it.

Reno's free hand reaches up and adjusts the fold of Axel's jacket. Axel smiles back and chuckles.

"You ready?"

"Been ready for the past year." Axel sighs.

"Something seems to bothering you. You're more . . . reserved than I imagined."

"Well if it weren't for Maleek being alive, which was a shocker for all, I'd probably be more enthusiastic." Axel admits.

"What does Maleek have to do with this?"

"What _doesn't_ he have to do with this?" Vanitas suddenly chimes. Heads turn to him. "He's probably the one who got Roxas out of the mines, and he's been training with Roxas since then. Not to mention he is also elven, and captain of the royal guard."

"Then what was he doing with the Faceless?" Sora asks.

"That's what we're going to find out at dinner." Riku says as he stares at himself in the mirror, adjusting his collar.

Reno turns back to Axel and turns him towards the front door, away from the rest of the group. "Don't tell me that Maleek is your biggest concern right now."

"So what if it is?" Axel growls. "You saw how Roxas was with him, he was practically molded to him."

"Look, I'm just going to tell you this now, Axel. Things have changed. And you have to face the fact that Roxas might not –"

"He's just confused, Reno!" Axel seethes, Reno immediately shushing him. "Of course he'll want to be with Maleek, he pulled him from the mines. He's not in love with Maleek, he's in love with what he did."

Reno rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Axel, do you not hear how pathetic you sound? If Roxas moved on, so what?"

"But he can't have moved on. He couldn't have." Axel nearly whispers.

With that he walks away from Reno, his brother staring after him. Axel pushes his way through the double oak doors and outside to the front where two carriages await them.

After Reno checks his pocket watch and gives a final call to the others, everyone files out of the house and into the carriages. Sora, Riku and Vanitas in one. Axel and Reno in another. Once everyone has settled in, the driver snaps the reins and they are off to the palace.

Leaning against the window, Axel stares out at the townhouses and shops that is Valendia. The kingdom is such a difference than that of Ivalice; with its enormous marble castle towering over the kingdom with the snow-tipped mountains at its back, the buildings are built in white-greyish stone with the roof tiles varying from brow to gold. The marketplace is filed with people, bright colors of the banners, clothes and fabrics are everywhere, guards patrolling the area spare citizens a nod. People are cheerful, laughing, linked at the arms and casually browsing wares as the sound of a small piper band plays in the background.

The kingdom itself is near perfect.

Axel still can't get over the even mixture of elves and humans living here in Valendia. They walk together side by side, children play together in the square by the fountain, and adolescents walk hand in hand gazing at the viewing glasses. It's astonishing, no wonder it's been titled heaven on earth.

As they turn down an intersection, Axel can see a couple towers of the castle come into view. Their spires are done in gold and a large dome in the back gleams in the glare of the sun. They keep heading straight until they reach the castle gates, and see the elven sentries with their spears ready, bows strapped to their backs.

Reno's carriage stops first, and he sticks his hand out of the window to give the sentry that approaches their invitation. Once the hulking elven man nods, he and Reno exchange a friendly nod and the carriage is granted access inside.

The massive black gates open wide, revealing the long gravel pathway towards the castle's front doors. Sora ducks shyly deeper inside the carriage as they pass one of the guards. Through the window, he can see one of the guards spare him a smile.

The carriages pull up to the front doors and a couple of servants are already there helping them out and pulling open the marble doors. Immediately they are greeted by one of the male elves they had met outside of Deep Blue; the one wearing the white armor with stunning white hair and porcelain pale skin.

Reno is the first to approach the male, extending out a hand and the male takes it. As Axel and Sora, and Vanitas and Riku approach the man and male grab their wrists and pat each other on the backs – a quick and effective greeting. Axel catches the male's name: Cecil.

Cecil leads them through the halls of the castle, not bothering to make the experience like the tours. He keeps quiet as his white cape billows out behind him. He is only taller than Reno by a few inches, but he still feels like a massive boulder compared to their human selves.

The groups takes in the glory that is the marble castle. It's so filled with aspects of nature hat it's hard to believe it's not actually cut into the mountainside. There was a waterfall behind the thrones or white stone, vines and tendrils of flowers wrapped themselves around the pillars, potted plants were everywhere and as they passed through a courtyard a river cut through with clear water. Ponds were set all around and filled with fish and lilies.

When they pass under another archway, the come to a hallway with sets of double doors on the right hand side. It was easy to spot the only pair of doors open as sunlight poured from the inside, and the other side of the hall was exquisite paintings and hallway furniture. Following Cecil inside, immediately the group notices the other male's brother, Kain, standing in front of the doors that lead to the balcony.

Then their eyes drift forward and they find a beautiful blond-haired boy dressed in exquisite clothing. His back is turned as he speaks with Maleek, who is leaning against the table with his arms crossed. When his eyes lift, he smiles and jerks his chin towards the group. The blonde boy turns, and those ethereal turquoise eyes light up with joy.

Axel swallows back his urge to cry and blinks away his moistened eyes as Sora immediately is the first person to break from the group and sprint towards Roxas.

The assassin opens up his arms as Sora crashes into him. The impact would've knocked a person to the ground, but with his newly acquired strength, Roxas stands strong as his arms wrap around the servant boy. His nose buries into the crook of Sora's neck, and he lifts the boy so that his toes are off the ground.

Maleek has since stepped back until he is leaning against the fireplace and Cecil has joined Kain by the balcony doors and they then step outside.

Sora is suddenly crying as he clings to Roxas as if for life. The assassin hasn't moved at all, his face still buried in Sora's neck, tears streaming down his cheeks. Sora is stroking Roxas' hair and when they finally pull back, Sora wipes Roxas' eyes and then his own. They laugh and cry and hug once more, then finally Sora simply holds Roxas' hands.

"Oh my gods," he whimpers. "this is incredible."

"It's okay, Sora." Roxas cries with him. He wipes Sora's tears with his thumbs and laughs.

Reno is the next to approach, and while Roxas is a little apprehension, he wipes his eyes and walks into Reno's open arms. "Hey hotshot, how are you?"

"Been better." Roxas sniffles with a smile.

Axel's heart is beating loudly as Roxas' eyes find him and his face grows . . . still. Up until now, Axel hasn't even looked at Roxas as he was too busy looking at Maleek, who looks right back at him, his face devoid of any emotion. He stands there comfortably, completely aware at how uncomfortable he was making the group with his goading stare. Axel also noticed how he has stayed in his human form instead of shifting. It makes him curious, but he won't question it.

He then sees Roxas freeze, his skin a slight shade paler. Axel turns to follow Roxas' stare and can't help but give a ghost of a smile when he sees that Roxas is staring at Riku.

"R-Riku." He stutters.

Riku steps forward with his arms wide, and Roxas lunges forward, plowing into him. Muffled sobs reach his ears, muffled as Roxas buries his face in Riku's chest.

"Thank the gods, Riku." Roxas mutters. Sora wipes his eyes and Reno softly smiles. Vanitas nervously fiddles with the cuff of his shirt.

Axel had nearly forgotten that the last time Roxas had seen Riku was back and Knave's Bay when they had freed hundreds of slaves; when Riku had destroyed the towers and Roxas thought he was dead. He never did get to say anything to Riku, simply just get shipped off thinking he failed and sent his own friend to his death.

Axel can't help but chuckle as Riku pets Roxas' head and hugs him back, holding back his own tears.

"I'm so happy to see you, Roxas."

Roxas pulls back and sniffs, wiping his nose on the back of his wrist. "I – I thought you were dead. I didn't get a chance to see you I –"

Roxas stops as his eyes flick to Vanitas, who swallows thickly. Roxas closes his mouth and clears his throat. He wipes his eyes when wipes his hands on his thighs.

"We'll talk about that in a second." He quickly dismisses.

Looking to Vanitas, Axel almost feels bad for the boy when he sees him lower his head and fold in his lips.

Then when Roxas steps forward towards him, Axel's eyes fall to the blonde. His heart nearly stops.

Gods . . . he is still is so beautiful; even if his eyes still show that haunted look, that hollowness that holds the icy silence in his soul. He is a little bit taller than Axel remembers. His head would fit perfectly against his chest, now Roxas' chin can rest on his shoulder when they hug.

Roxas takes another step forward and his arms are immediately around Axel's torso. Axel's arm twine around the blonde and Roxas turns his head to it rests perfectly in the crook of Axel's neck, like a puzzle piece that has long been missing. When Axel lowers his head so that his forehead is on Roxas' shoulder, Roxas' hand reaches up and cups the back of his head.

Gods, how he had missed this."

"I missed you Axel." Roxas nearly whispers, and it takes all of Axel's will not to just kiss him right there, as answers are still needed.

"I missed you too, Roxas." He replies.

When they pull back, the assassin simply stares into Axel's eyes, the ring of gold seemingly brighter than before. This close, Axel can see small scars around Roxas' face, scars that he _knew_ weren't there before. He can see Roxas' hair has some split ends, the color looking more faded than before, as if someone had sucked the life out of it and it's slowly gaining it back. His face seems sharper, more angled with his chiseled jaw and small pubic hairs around his chin.

Axel's hands immediately reach up and cup Roxas' face, and the assassin stiffens then he steps back, removing Axel's hands. Feeling his heart sink, he lets Roxas kiss his knuckles and escort them over to the table. "Uh, why don't we sit down? We have a lot to talk about." He says.

* * *

As the plates of food are passed from person to person, Roxas takes delicate sips of the wine set out by the servants. He is sitting at the head of the table and then to his left it's Axel, Reno and Vanitas, and on his right is Sora and Riku.

Roxas can already sense that he'll have to rely on Sora and possibly Riku to keep conversation. He can't face Axel nor Vanitas, not yet, and Reno, there's still some stiff words left between them, and they need to be discussed at this dinner. As he was waiting for the carriages to arrive, he made himself promise that he would tell them everything that has happened at this dinner, of course in exchange that they tell him everything. Obviously, some things are better left spoken in private.

Looking towards Vanitas, he already seems to be, brighter than when he saw them yesterday. He's dressed nicely, the purple bags under his eyes seem to fade. Hopefully he got some sleep.

Roxas' shoulders slouch. He thought he would have more furious emotions with Vanitas and what he did. He is surprised he hasn't ripped out Vanitas' throat by now. But really, apart from it all being so pointless, in a way, perhaps Vanitas' suffering was his own form of revenge. It's cruel and it's cold, but it's better than Roxas slicing his throat. Vanitas just looked so tired and regretful, and that simply ate him up. Revenge in itself. He will speak with him later . . . he has to.

Over by the fireplace, where he has stood since the crew arrived, Maleek leans against the mantle with his arms folded, his gaze never leaving the table. His eyes flick to Roxas, a quick smile, and then he goes back to observing the table.

Roxas almost wants to laugh, almost wants to speak with Maleek to guarantee he has nothing to worry about, but with what happened a year ago at Knave's Bay still fresh in his mind, what does he know about who he can trust? They might all hate him.

Kain and Cecil are still outside the balcony doors, the glass seemingly becoming frosted. Roxas makes a mental note to ask if they want anything to drink. Or perhaps if they want to come inside. So what if they're immortal beings, they could still get cold.

"This food is incredible!" Sora chimes, drawing the assassin's attention. "I've never been able to cook anything like this."

"At least you still have a kitchen. I assumed Luxord burned it down." Roxas smiles.

"He's not that bad a cook."

"It's not bad, it's just, he can forget things."

Sora chuckles as he takes a sip from his goblet. Silverware clinks against the plates and everyone's faces contort to shock as they eat at some of the food. Roxas looks over to Axle who has kept his eyes on his food, and Vanitas does the same.

It's bad enough he d9esn't like the silence of the table, even if it means that they like the food, but he also doesn't like small talk. They're here for a, sort of business discussion. And yet he doesn't want to ruin his time so soon with the crew. He just knew that if things didn't go too well here, he might not see them for another long while.

He casts his gaze to Maleek, who hasn't taken his eyes off of the table. He looks to Roxas and gives a little nod. Still, Roxas stays mostly quiet, avoiding the subject that hovers in the air like a spider, waiting to descend.

When dessert comes out, he smiles wide as everyone registers some form of surprise when a line of servants comes out with silver platters all serving the delicious desserts that Roxas now has memorized by name. It's that time he managed to excuse himself to bring Kain and Cecil some warm tea and a couple cookies. Maleek assures Roxas he is fine and gives a smile.

More clinking, idler chatter, at least two hours pass by, and it almost feels as if he is back at Reno's mansion in Lesalia, enjoying a meal made by Sora and Luxord. He talks with Sora and Riku. Artemis is doing fine, Roxas' heart aching to see her again. She must be big according to Sora. Riku's been taking her for walks every day, and the men at the house send their love. How he wishes to see them: Xigbar, Zexion, Luxord, Zack. He jokes about how long his hair had gotten, and how relieved he was to finally have a haircut. He even shifts for them into his elven form to show his control and they give little applause.

The subject of the matter still dangles in his head, but he must wait a little longer. Then when the clock strikes eight o'clock, Sora speaks up.

"It's amazing you get to try these foods. Such taste is incredible." Sora has a weary smile on his lips.

Its time.

"It's certainly better than the food from Gollund Mines." The air suddenly tenses. Roxas looks up and a few heads have turned, others keep their eyes on their food, but their faces pale. "I hate to ruin the best part of the meal, but . . ." he trails off and meets everyone's gaze.

"Alright." Reno says, setting down his fork and knife, his plate smeared with frosting of the chocolate cake he ate. He wipes his mouth with the napkin. "Where did you want to start?"

Roxas blinks and begins to turn the fork over and over in his hand. "I guess I'll just explain what happened after I got taken to Gollund."

Heads nod slightly, Sora's face now registers a worried expression, his hands folded tightly in his lap. Vanitas now stares at him, those golden eyes seemingly screaming at Roxas. What they say, he doesn't know.

And so Roxas tells them about his first day in Gollund Mines, how he had spent it being whipped and beaten into submission, and how he put up a fight for the papers – nearly knocking out five to six overseers with his bare hands, and what he had endured the following year. He tells them about the time he spit in his first overseer's face and then being tied to a post with no food or water for three days as punishment. He then moves on to telling them about his first "escape" attempt by having himself being bitten by a poisonous snake found in the mines. He tells them about being healed by his fellow prisoners of Galtea, and then having to watch the one Galtea woman, the one who helped heal his back after his whipping of the day, get raped and murdered and simply tossed into one of the many mass graves as if she was nothing more than trash. He surprises even himself when he talks about the faithful day when he rampaged through the mines in his desperate attempt to run to his own death. The carnage in his wake, a record for the books, even with his blood-covered past in Twilight Town. Coming to the conclusion of Maleek and King Sephiroth pulling him from the mines, he tells them about the deal he agreed to with Sephiroth to become leader of The Thirteen in exchange for his freedom.

"How long do you have?" Riku asks.

"After I become leader, I am dedicated to five years of service to the king. And then he will wipe my record clean and give me my freedom."

The plates are exchanged for tea and coffee, and Roxas now spins his spoon in the small cup as he mixes up the milk with the tea. The table is silent, and Sora has reached out his hand to rest it on Roxas'. The assassin gives a sad smile.

Sora swallows. "Do . . . do you have any scars?"'

Heads turn and eyes widen. Roxas simply stares at Sora, the boy's eyes watering and asking for a wanting to see. More for clarification than proof. Roxas folds in his lips, and then rises from his seat. He silently turns away from the table and lifts his shirt.

Revealing the four claw-mark scars that rake down his back, Roxas feels his shoulder droop when he hears gasps and a couple droppings of silverware.

It's not just the four giant scars, but the littler ones that each claim a part of his back, his shoulders, and his arms. Little marks of the brawls he got tangled into, miscalculated lashings of the whip and just overall beat downs the overseers gave him if he showed any signs of trouble. It never troubled Roxas, it only meant to him that they were taking extra precautions when it came to him. As they should have – he _is_ Kingdom Heart's Assassin.

He doesn't move when there's the high-pitched squeal of a chair and booted footsteps come towards him. Just from feeling the fingers on his back, Roxas knew Axel was right behind him. He breathes slowly as he feels the tips of Axel's fingers trace along the first scar. It's the shortest one, farthest to the left and starting from the middle of his shoulder blade and stretching down to the first dimple at the bottom of his spine.

Feeling Axel's fingers bump across the scars, Roxas can't help but feel Axel's emotions transfer through his touch. Roxas' eyes water and his body almost begins to shake. He wants to lower his shirt, but they deserve to see this, all for different reasons.

Axel's fingers trace down the final large scar on Roxas' back and explores the smaller ones that surround the claw-marks. Roxas can feel Axel's fingers shaking, from rage and sorrow. Slowly they go up his back towards his right shoulder, where the middle scar begins.

"By the holy gods." He whispers.

Roxas leans forward and lowers his shirt, then turns to face the group. Axel is right next to him, but Roxas faces the horrified eyes at the table. "Those I got my first day in Gollund Mines. And with the daily whippings they never fully healed."

"You got whipped . . . daily?" Riku asks, his eyes wide even if his eyebrows narrow.

Roxas simply nods his head. "The beginning of every morning. But it was only me and whatever other seemingly deadly criminals there was."

Silence. Axel's still lingering gaze is tracing up and down Roxas, the same way he would wen his eyes were filled with lust. Roxas wants to sit down, but with Axel standing near him, he doesn't want to seem rude. Roxas' eyes flick to Maleek, still against the fireplace. The captain only lifts his eyebrows as if waiting for Roxas to mention the other elephant in the room. The assassin swallows, but clears his throat.

"Maleek has been training me throughout the long months, and I'm happy to say I've been getting back to my old self." Roxas says. It almost feels like a lie. He could never truly go back to the boy he once was. Never.

"So, when did Maleek even become part of all this?" Vanitas asks. "I mean, the last time we saw him . . ." he trails off as the clicking of Maleek's boots approach the table.

Heads turn to his direction, but Maleek only stares straight ahead, at Roxas. The assassin begins to fiddle with the ring on his finger, a habit he had gotten into from the mines, only this time the smoothness of the gold band is replaced by an amethyst stone. He notices Axel's eyes drifting to his hand, but Roxas doesn't look to him.

Maleek has made it to the table, the opposite end of Roxas' seat and as set his hands on the back. "I know the last time you saw me I was an assassin for the Faceless, but I can guarantee you that all my intentions are good, and have been good since the beginning."

"So what's your story, _Captain_?" Axel asks. Roxas immediately jerks his head towards the redhead, and finds him glaring at Maleek. A stone cold hatred is etched into his eyes, and Roxas nearly growls at Axel for staring at Maleek like that. After everything he's done for Roxas –

Maleek returns the gaze to Axel, a fiendish smile on his lips; at least, to what Roxas can see. "I was a part of the royal guard for all of my life. I was sent to go undercover as a tribute for the Faceless to try and find out their plan of action. The mission lasted at least one to two years."

A pause. "Well, what about your story?" Sora asks softly.

Maleek's face seems to soften at the boy's soft but firm tone. "It was mostly true. I did help the girls from a brothel, only it wasn't my own war band, but a clan of bandits. I needed an excuse to have the Faceless recruit me."

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," says Riku. "To be trained all your life for one thing, and then having to go against all of it. That's . . . complicated."

"It wasn't easy. But what even I didn't expect was to have a band of pirates and assassins come in, and having to find out that Tifa was your mother." He directs to Roxas. The assassin simply shrugs and gives a shy smile.

"I guess we should thank you." Vanitas says, but his tone is flat. There's no hatred, no nothing, really. It's blank. Looking to him, his stare is at the table, past his half-finished plate of food. He looks up and he first looks to Roxas, then Maleek. "We wouldn't have seen him if not for you."

Maleek's stare towards Vanitas would've killed him, and Vanitas senses it as well as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He should've expected Roxas to tell Maleek everything about what had happened, and Roxas knows that Vanitas had to have told everyone else a different story. Otherwise he wouldn't even be present right now.

"You're welcome." Maleek responds.

The grandfather tucked by the door chimes eight thirty. "Axel," Roxas says. As if his voice had physically tugged his attention towards him, Axel's head jerks towards him. His eyes have a sense of relief, excitement. "I'd like to speak with you out on the balcony."

Axel nods and follows Roxas. No one protests. They pass Maleek, Roxas managing to brush his fingers against Maleek's, and a shock of electricity travels through his arm. Kain's head turns over his shoulder and he nudges Cecil. The two open the doors and nod their heads. Roxas nods back and without saying a word to the two warriors, they head inside. As the glass doors close, Roxas is relieved to hear Sora keeping conversation with Maleek, asking him what is was like to train with elves and how he became Captain of the Royal Guard.

Outside, the temperature has dropped and a breeze sends goosebumps across Roxas' arms. Thankfully, Roxas grabbed a cloak he kept draped over the back of his chair for this specific purpose.

Now, standing out on the balcony, the kingdom of Valendia below them, he tries to use his powers to warm himself from inside. The lights of the city look like little square fireflies and the shuffling of people's feet can be heard along with conversation reduced to whispers at this altitude.

Roxas starts to turn Maleek's ring around and around his finger. How was he supposed to start things off? Just tell him things have changed, that they both have changed?

When Roxas opens his mouth to say something, he immediately feels Axel's lips on his own. Almost as if it was instinct, Roxas' lips start to move to Axel, but his heart suddenly jars. Roxas takes a sharp intake of breath and he instantly pushes Axel away. The redheaded captain is shocked, Roxas' heart is nearly thumping out of his chest. Roxas slowly shakes his head no, his fingertips covering his mouth.

"I thought you invited me out here for _that_." Axel says. "To make up for . . . lost time."

"No." Roxas nearly whimpers.

"Roxas." Axel furrows his eyebrows, his eyes growing sad, but angry. "What happened? I thought you missed me."

"I did." Roxas says, continuing to fidget with Maleek's ring. "It's just . . . over time, things have changed."

"Roxas, you can't possibly love him. Not after what we've been through. What we _have_."

Jerking his head, his own anger starting to boil, Roxas nearly snarls. "What makes you think I don't?"

"Of course you're going to have an emotional connection to him, Roxas. He freed you from the mines. You're not in love with him, you've in love with what he did."

It takes everything Roxas has not to smack Axel across the face. Nearly two years ago, he wouldn't have laid a hand on him. He reduces to gritting his teeth. "How dare you. That's not true."

"What? Roxas you can't be serious!" Axel says, his anger suddenly bursting like a destroyed dam. His emotions flood forward in a wave of words he worries he can't control.

"So what if I am!"

"You mean you can just throw away everything we've ever had?! Everything that we had built together?! Everything we _promised_ like it's nothing?!"

"You broke that promise before I did, Axel!"

"What?" Axel pauses, staring at the beautiful assassin. His face blanks as he speaks. "Roxas, you can't hold me accountable with what happened. You were taken away, and I couldn't reach you. But you don't think I tried to help you just as much as he did?!" Axel motions his arm towards the inside, where Maleek is smiling at something Sora had said. "You don't know the countless nights I had spent, pouring myself over every contact, every document at my disposal to try and free you." Axel's speaks, his voice dropping an entire octave.

"It's not just that Axel," Roxas says, his voice quiet.

"Then what is it?"

Roxas folds in his lips, clenching his eyes shut before forcing himself to look at Axel. "You left me."

"What? Roxas –"

"This isn't just about the mines, Axel." Roxas interjects. "This has to do with, what happened back in Traverse Town."

Axel's eyes drift to the side to ponder, and he then blinks and sighs. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Look Roxas, if you think I'm upset with you or . . . afraid of you, I'm not."

Roxas shakes his head. "You're only lying to yourself."

"Roxas!" Axel's hands shoot out and they grip Roxas' shoulders before the assassin can think. Eyes wide, his blue turquoise stares into Axel's emerald green, he can see something churning inside them: passion, longing, urgency. "I love you. I have loved you since you stumbled upon gym ship that faithful day, and I will love you until I am dead in the ground."

"I can't believe you." Roxas says bringing his arms up and pushing Axel's hands off him. He takes a couple steps back. "You need to stop the denial, Axel. Ever since you had found out about my heritage, you've been distant, you've been cautious."

"I was only worried it would upset you to talk about it."

"No, you left me to deal with it myself! You still see me as this powerful, arrogant, independent assassin but I'm _not_ , Axel! Why can't you see that?! I was _scared_ , and you left me _alone_!" Roxas bellows, his eyes watering.

"I tried everything I could, Roxas. I even went to your father for help! So you can't say I didn't help you!" Axel counters and without giving Roxas a chance to retort, he turns and shoves his shoulder into the balcony door, bursting it open inwards.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Roxas yells after him.

Cecil and Kain briefly set their hands to their swords, but remove them as Axel storms in. all heads have turned and Sora's and Vanitas' eyes are worried. Maleek is leaning forward over the chair at the opposite end of the table, arms folded. When the door burst, his head turned, eyebrows narrowing. Axel's feet keeps walking a hasty pace. His destination: Maleek. He'll punch those fanged teeth right out of his face.

"Axel!" Roxas calls. When he doesn't respond, lifts his voice so he is nearly shouting at the top of his lungs. " _Axel_!"

Finally the redhead stops and turns. His throat bobs as he swallows. Roxas has shifted into his elven form from his burst of anger. Ears pointed and fangs bared in hatred, the pupils of his eyes are reduced to a thin slit of black like a cat's.

"Look at me." He growls deeply.

Upon spite Axel's eyes drift to the floor, and he turns slightly away to rub his hand along his jaw.

" _Look at me_!" Roxas bellows. His voice carries throughout the room, the crystals of the chandelier rattling from the vibrations.

Axel looks to the elven assassin, his eyes still holding that anger as he stares at the powerful being before him.

"You are afraid of me, Axel. Admit it." Roxas starts to advance towards Axel. "What we had, not matter how much you wish it wasn't true, it's gone now. You can tell me you love me, that much is true. But you don't understand."

"I'm the only person in the world who knows you better." Axel says. Roxas' shoulder slouch, well aware of Maleek's territorial eyes.

"You don't understand, Axel! You treat me like I can handle anything, but the truth is, I can't! I'm just as fragile as any other person, I need help, I need comfort. I need someone to see that I am a broken mess, and Maleek is the only person who has ever done that!"

"So everything that I've ever don't for you meant nothing? Do you not believe that I was just as destroyed as you?"

"I wouldn't believe it as you've mostly spent it at the taverns at the bottom of the bottle."

Axel grows rigid, and the room stiffens. Reno's eyes close and he takes a breath. Sora has Riku's hand, slightly shaking, and Vanitas simply stares at the crowd, listening.

Roxas snarls. "I could smell the alcohol on you before the carriage even got passed the gates."

Axel growls and turns away, back in his direction towards Maleek. This time Maleek can sense it as he stands straight, his hands loose at his side. Behind him, Roxas can sense Cecil and Kain ready to strike.

"Don't be such a coward, Axel!" Roxas hollers.

Axel stops dead, his head turning slightly over his shoulder. "What did you say? What did you say you ungrateful, little shit!?"

Axel regrets the words immediately after they leave his mouth. Maleek throws a chair to the side and is in front of Roxas in seconds, Cecil and Kain in front of Maleek. All of them guarding Roxas with their fangs bared, deep guttural growls purring the back of their throats.

Maleek has even drawn a dagger from his belt, his sapphire eyes ready to kill. Before he can say the words that would obliterate everything between them, Roxas stops himself. His chest physically hurts. He would've countered with something much worse to Axel, or even just let the three elven warriors in front of him lead him out of the castle.

But he stops himself after the realization: this . . . this is what Reno had said to Roxas, just before Roxas was betrayed and captured. Not only that, but when he demanded Axel look to him, it was like he was back in Twilight Town in his father's mansion, screaming at Axel to confess that he killed his mother. He can't and won't let history repeat itself.

Stepping out around Maleek, the three warriors sense his movement. Roxas sets his hand on Maleek's arm, and immediately Maleek's arm relaxes and his shoulders slouch. Cecil and Kain stand up straighter, their postures softening.

Just like that, as if under a spell, Roxas has the capability to control such great warriors. He takes steps through Cecil and Kain, giving them terse nods. The warriors ease back, releasing their hands from their weapons.

Roxas looks to Axel, swallows, and takes a deep breath. "Don't run away Axel, not like I did. You need to face what is before you, and accept it."

Axel's eyes are watering, his skin slightly pale from the sudden scare and from the horror of what he had just spoken to Roxas.

Roxas' eyes water as flashes of their journey come before him. One tear slips and his lip quivers as he speaks.

"Ever since I killed Ventus, things just haven't been the same. That much we both know. But it wasn't until we found out what I am did I truly see that I had lost you. You might not think so, but it's true." More tears, his voice hitches at the end and he sniffs. "You accept that I am different Axel, but you haven't embraced it."

"Roxas –"

"You treat me like an entirely different person when I'm like _this_." Roxas says motioning to his more toned, elven body. "I am not the same headstrong boy you met on your pirate ship that day, and I can never _be_ that boy again. I am lost, I am broken, I've fallen off the edge over and over, and this time I don't know if I'll ever get back. At least not alone."

Eyes are gleaming, and Axel can only stare at Roxas. The boy takes a daring step forward.

"I'm sorry that you couldn't be the one to make me as happy as you pictured – as _we_ pictured. Things change, but I don't want to lose you, Axel." Roxas whimpers. His hands reach out and grab Axel's one. "I still need you, to fill in gaps, to help answer questions, just . . . just be there. All of you," Roxas says turning towards the table where the rest sit. "Just be there for me, so I know you're still in my life. So that I can come to you for simple, normal things. Maybe even when we're going into battle, I don't know. I just need you all there. That's all I ask."

He turns to Axel. The redhead feels the assassin press something cold and circular into his palm. His throat bobs.

"That's all I ask, Axel."

Reno looks to his brother, his eyes watery. Sora is holding back a sob but his cheeks are raw, and Riku and Vanitas have boldly shed some tears, but take deep breaths to calm themselves.

After moments of palpable silence, the room seemingly growing tight and suffocating, hands still linked, Axel looks to Roxas. "I wish I could Roxas, but I can't."

A crack and a snap. It was loud; how did no one hear it? Roxas' chest suddenly hurts, so much it's nearly a struggle to stand.

This time, it is Axel who takes the step back, but his fingers curl inward, cupping the small gold ring in his palm. At least he didn't drop it. Everything feels so fragile around him right now. Roxas fears that if Axel had dropped it, it would've cracked the floor underneath him; sending him falling into that dark abyss. The abyss that swallowed him so many times before.

As Axel passes Reno, Reno tries to stop him, ready to place a hand on Axel's chest, but Axel pushes it away and mumbles something like: I'll be waiting in the carriage.

Roxas is just left standing there, frozen, motionless. He feels heavy enough to break through the floors of the marble castle. He watches as Axel keeps going for the door, but doesn't turn around not once. Once he's out of sight, silence envelops the room.

Then there's the creaking of chairs and snapping him back to reality, Roxas looks to find Sora rounding the table towards him. It isn't until he is directly in front of Roxas does he notice how much taller he has gotten compared to Sora. But Sora has grown too; Roxas can tell he's kept up with their training.

Sora simply opens his arms, and Roxas walks into them, resting his forehead on Sora's shoulder. When he inhales, his breath hitches making him hiccup and cough out a sob. Sora's arms are around his neck breathing slowly. Roxas doesn't want to break down, not here, not in front of them.

"He had no right to say that to you. To do that to you." Sora whispers.

Roxas sighs, his nose running. He emerges from Sora's shoulder and wipes his eyes. "Neither did I."

"You did nothing wrong." Sora softly assures.

Hugging him again, Roxas sighs into Sora's hair and kisses his forehead. "Thank you for coming. Sorry the dinner didn't go as planned."

Sora simply waves his hand to assure nothing is wrong. "But can we really stay in contact with each other?"

"Yes! Yes, of course!"

Sora smiles as Reno comes up from behind. Roxas takes a small step back, hesitant. Riku comes up behind Sora and Reno allows Riku and Roxas to exchange hugs before he takes Sora's hand and the two walk out of the room. Only Vanitas sits at the table now.

Reno gives the best smile he can manage. "It's good to see you again, Roxas. I'm so glad you're doing well."

Roxas thinks it might be his blurred vision from the tears, but he could've sworn that there was something swimming in Reno's eyes. Regret? Pride? Perhaps even sorrow. "Listen, about what was exchanged, between us –"

Reno shakes his head and takes Roxas' hand. "I was too harsh. I was so caught up in my own goals trying to get you to understand that – I just forgot that you were still young. Or well, I guess at the time."

"I think in a way, you were right. I didn't want to accept my heritage because I was afraid of it too. It caused so much trouble I thought it'd be better off forgotten. But I guess that'd be like forgetting who I was. Who I am."

Surprise flinches across Reno's face. "Wait, so does that mean –?"

Someone clears their throat behind them. Jerking his head, Roxas finds Maleek a few steps behind them with Kain and Cecil still heavily watching them. Maleek hasn't sheathed his dagger, the hand gripping it resting against his hip. Roxas gives him a confused expression, but Reno speaks up. "Nevermind. I'm glad you're alright. And please, feel free to come by whenever you want. We have a room ready for you."

"How is Artemis?" Roxas suddenly asks. The thought of his precious dog alone in Ivalice while everyone else is here makes his heart ache.

"She's fine." Reno chuckles. "We'd be more than happy to take you to see her. Or have her brought here."

"I'll think about it." Roxas smiles.

Reno opens his arms and Roxas walks into them, feeling a little better knowing that Reno no longer thinks of him as a coward. To have those last words spoken to him, to hear them echo in his head during the long nights inside the dark mine shafts, it would've drove him mad had it not been for his determination to live; or perhaps it was merely luck that he lived. Roxas knew he wouldn't have survived the next winter in Gollund Mines.

Pulling apart, Reno gives Roxas a pat on the shoulder and begins to turn and walk away, when: "Reno." Roxas calls. The redhead turns, slightly surprised. "Will you please tell Axel –"

Reno's face relaxes and holds up his hand. "Don't' worry about it. I'll try and talk some sense into him."

"You don't have to, just, make sure he's okay."

Reno nods. "I will."

Once Reno has left the room, only Vanitas remains. He kept his head turned towards Reno, watching as the redhead left the room. Roxas took advantage of the situation to look to Maleek and motion him and the twins out. Cecil and Kain resumed out on the balcony, and Maleek went over to the table, picking up the chair he practically shoved out of the way to get to Axel. After a harsh glare, he leaves finally sheathing the dagger at his hip.

Slowly, Vanitas turns his head to Roxas, who is now leaning against the table, a shy and careful distance from Vanitas. He doesn't know if he should let Vanitas go first, or if he should just verbally bombard him with questions. In the beginning, Roxas would've just verbally slaughtered him into nothing, but after seeing the result of what guild and fear did to Vanitas over the timespan he was in the mines, it's almost as if Vanitas was in a prison of his own imagination.

"I honestly don't know how to start." Vanitas then says. Roxas looks to him, still in his elven form. Vanitas' ember-gold eyes gleam, but at the same time, they seem so . . . dead. Ever since Vanitas had injected him with some serum that prevented him from shifting, Roxas almost feels it is a precaution to stay in his immortal form. "I cannot, and will not ask for your forgiveness. Because what I did to you, I don't deserve it."

"I can already tell it wasn't willing." A pause. "What did you tell them?"

"That you sent me ahead after Riku and had gotten captured by the Royal Guards."

"Oh, so not only did you betray me, but you also ruined my reputation." Roxas coldly amuses.

Vanitas would have laughed – actually felt his insides tighten to bark out the sound that had been buried for months, but then he remembers what he had done. "Please understand, Roxas." Vanitas finally rises from his chair, "it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life. And if I could go back, I would've gladly killed myself before I do that."

Feeling his chest tighten, Roxas' eyes flick down to Vanitas' wrists, lined with scars that trail almost all the way up his entire forearm. A faint ring of bruises is around his neck, his skin so pale, eyes gaunt and haunted. It destroyed him. It literally _destroyed_ him.

"Why did you do it? If you feel so guilty and rotten, why did you do it?"

Vanitas shakes his head, casting his gaze to the floor.

"Was it gold? Was your life in danger?"

"No."

"Then _what_?"

Vanitas shakes his head again, slowly lifting it to find those beautiful eyes. "I had to."

Roxas' nostrils flare, his lips pressing tightly. "You're not making any sense. I'm trying to give you – I _want_ to give you a second chance Vanitas!"

When the assassin cringes like Roxas had just slapped him, the assassin forces himself to breathe. He clenches his jaw, walking over to one chair, gripping its back as if he means to snap it in half. After a moment, he loosens a long breath.

"They have cells in the bowels of the mines that they use to punish slaves; solitary confinement. They're so dark that when you wake up, you can't even see your hand in front of your face. You'd think you'd gone blind. They locked me in there whenever they felt like it – almost two to three times a week – once for three weeks straight. In the darkness, I kept asking myself: why – why did he do it? Why would he do this to me? What have I ever done to him to make him despise me this much?"

Vanitas' face is pale, on the verge of breaking down. Roxas has to be careful. "When they had let me out, so much of my mind felt like it had shut down. I was in a catatonic state for two weeks after, and the only thing I could remember was your face, and asking why? Over and over and over again. I'm still asking it now Vanitas, and I want an answer. I _deserve_ an answer!" Despite his town, more tears escape Roxas and his voice quivers.

Vanitas is sobbing now, his hands covering his face and running a shaking hand through his hair. Roxas doesn't say anything else, he only stares at the assassin, his once most trusted friend. When Vanitas is calm enough, he looks to Roxas, eyes and nose red.

"I did it so you could come home."

A small crack in the wood. Roxas releases the chair and turns to lean against the table.

"You have to understand Roxas, I can't tell you everything right now. It's all too much – and, and if I tell you, it'll be more confusing and you'll just be more upset. I just, I just can't." Vanitas is now openly sobbing, trying his best to wipe away his tears.

He's demented. He's out of his mind. How could betraying him, crushing his hope and obliterating his trust make him come back home? Did he think he would end up back in Kingdom Hearts with King Mickey? It doesn't make sense.

"Roxas, please." Vanitas is suddenly in his face, grabbing his hands. Roxas flinches, nearly snarling, but let's Vanitas hold his hands. The boy almost seems frantic now. "I want to tell you everything. Let everything out in the open so that you finally know everything, but I just can't."

"How can I trust _anything_ you ever say anymore?" Vanitas slightly retreats. Roxas then covers Vanitas' hand with his own. "Look Vanitas, I want this all to end on a . . . decent note. I don't want to say anything to you that would make you take . . . drastic measures. But if someone is threatening your life because of this, I can help."

Vanitas suddenly chuckles. "I can't believe it, after all of this time, after everything I did, you still want to help me?"

The corner of Roxas' mouth twitches slightly. "No. Ending your life is a pleasure I want to save for myself." An uneven exhale, a quick glimpse of Roxas' fangs, but Vanitas still weakly smiles. "But Vanitas, please, why can't you tell me? What it so important?"

Vanitas looks to Roxas, a familiar calm spreading across his face. His shoulders relax and he inhales deeply. He steps close to Roxas, the elven assassin stiffening.

And then Roxas feels his body grow numb as Vanitas reiterates the riddle his father had told him.

"At the year of twenty five, the king will rise."


	53. Chapter 26 (Part Two)

**~Hello and Good afternoon everyone. First, I want to apologize for the long delay. What had started out as a simple writer's block soon became a long hold as I've been juggling getting back into my routine of school and work along with handling some personal issues. I've been updating other stories due to a better idea flow in my head and progression of the plot. Now having said all that, I once again say thank you all for your patience and continued support for my story; of which I will be continuing.**

 **Now with that said, this chapter does have a form of indulgence to it in that, I** _ **highly**_ **recommend listening to "** _ **Firebird Suite**_ **" from the brilliant Disney film** _ **Fantasia 2000**_ **if you want to get a feel for the music that Roxas enjoys this chapter, and that this song is a piece where words don't give it any justice for its beauty. Thank you all again for your support and patience, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.~**

* * *

As Roxas fluffs up the pillow of his bed, he growls as a cold chill tickles his legs. "Would you please close the door, I'm trying to keep warm here." he says to Maleek, the Captain of the Guard is standing out on the balcony, his blonde hair contracting with the jet black sky.

He's been standing out there, brooding ever since the disastrous dinner concluded. Already the glass of the windows have a light layer of frost on it, indicating snowfall is to be very soon. Another breeze wafts Maleek's hair, the captain turning towards the assassin. "I still could sack that son-of-a-bitch for what he said to you." He grumbles.

Roxas looks to him, a small smile on his face. "It's alright, Maleek."

"No, it's not alright," the captain says as he walks back inside, finally closing the door behind him. Sighing with relief, Roxas allows the heat of the room to envelope all the cold spots. "He had no right to say that to you, especially if you were honest with him."

"He was also upset, Maleek, you have to understand that." As Maleek rounds the bed to what is now proclaimed his side, Roxas looks to the captain, seeing him dressed in a pale mint-green tunic and night pants is so – tempting. Especially when bits of his tattoo curl out from underneath.

"Still, that doesn't mean he should be allowed to say that to you."

"You could tell he regretted it."

"Only after he saw me and the twins." Maleek winks.

Roxas chuckles as Maleek flops onto the bed throwing his arm over his eyes. Roxas crawls in after him, snuggling his feet underneath the thick down comforter, accompanied by a thick wool blanket. Cocooned in the canopy encasing his bed, Roxas smiles as he presses himself against Maleek's warm, muscled body.

Most of his room by now is dark, sconces on the wall have been dimmed down to a relaxing glow, and then there is a three-pronged candelabrum left on Roxas' nightstand. After the rest of the group left, after ensuring the twins that he didn't want them to skin Axel alive, Roxas and Maleek returned to his chambers where Roxas openly let himself cry. Maleek didn't say anything, simply rubbing Roxas' back, kissing his cheek and fetching him multiple tissues.

Despite himself, Roxas let himself fall apart, a habit he is starting to – and letting himself – continue. He learned long before that keeping things bottled up can lead to horrible decisions and outcomes.

Maleek's arm wraps around Roxas and pulls him closer. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks Roxas while kissing his forehead.

"I'll be fine. Though, it is abnormal to think that they're back in my life again. It's like I haven't grown used to it."

"Do you know how long they're in Valendia? I know Reno said they traveled here all the way from Ivalice."

Roxas shrugs. "Knowing Reno, he probably has a home in the city somewhere. It shouldn't be too hard to find as he gave me the address."

"I'm sure Sora will be happy to see you." Maleek smiles.

Roxas does too. "I think so too. I didn't know how much I missed him until now." He angles his head to stare up at the captain. "Will you be attending the ball?"

"Of course I will. I'll be arriving with The Thirteen, we're going to be on guard duty."

Roxas smiles deviously. "Sucks to be you."

Maleek retaliates by pinching Roxas' nose until the assassin has to wiggle his way free. As he giggles, Maleek kisses his forehead and tucks a few strands of hair behind his ears. "Are you excited for the party?" Maleek asks.

"Honestly, I think I am. It's been a while since I've attended a party where I'm _not_ going to kill someone." He smiles. "The only other time was at my birthday party."

A small weight settles on Roxas' think, remembering the ball his mother had thrown him for his birthday, back when she was pretending to care. But even after her psychotic nature was exposed, it would be a lie if Roxas said he didn't enjoy himself, nor that it was one of the greatest parties he had ever attended in his life. The only hindrance will be the attire that the Queen has chosen for him.

He knew Maleek will object the moment he sees it, but at the same time, Roxas is more than excited to see his expression towards Roxas when he emerges all powdered and plucked up.

The assassin smiles to himself as he kisses Maleek's neck. Maleek's arms wrap tighter around him his breath tickling Roxas' scalp. "I'm excited for you. Just be sure to watch yourself."

"I will. I can handle my liquor."

"That'll be interesting for me to find out." Maleek grins. "I've been meaning to see where your tolerance is."

"Quite scandalous, Captain Maleek."

Roxas chirps as he feels Maleek pinch his bum, and his teeth descend upon his neck. Roxas bites his lip, groaning with pleasure. When Maleek starts to nibble on his ear, Roxas' toes curl and he giggles from the tickling of Maleek's skilled tongue.

He leans back and kisses Maleek's lips. Burrowing himself into Maleek's solid chest, Roxas easily finds sleep. The next morning, Maleek was gone, but he had let Roxas sleep in, mostly because he had a night of partying to enjoy.

But Roxas groans as he rolls over to feel the coldness of the mattress and sheets beneath him. But a smile crawls across his lips as he can still smell Maleek on the sheets. Blinking his eyes open, he can feel the sunlight warm his face and his mood increases as she sits up and stretches. He sighs and giggles childishly as he hops out of bed and skips his way over to the bathing chamber.

He's about to settle when there's a knock at the door and Roxas goes over, pulling open the large marble door to find a trio of servants readied with his clothes and powders and scrubs and colognes. Roxas chuckles as he lets them in and he allows one of the servants to lead him back towards the bathroom.

While they set up, he enjoys the thick banquet of a breakfast, belching loudly. After dismissing the sounds of disgust and small giggles of the servants, Roxas relaxes and lets himself be pampered. If he had to admit it to himself, perhaps he always had a heart for luxury – it just took living in a castle to realize it.

In the hours that pass, Roxas is all set and dressed in the outfit that the Queen had picked, and almost immediately, his mood shifts. It's nothing bad really, he's defiantly one to show off for people. And this attire is definitely about to get attention, it's just a little, feminine.

First off, everything is skintight: the skirt and the pants and the boots. He knew the scarlet tunic is a little scandalous. And he knew it was definitely not appropriate for winter, given how low the front dips, and how much lower the back goes with a somewhat revealing mesh of black lace. Its fitting sleeves enhance the shape and contour of his muscles, same for the grey pants and the freshly polished black boots.

As he peers at himself in the mirror, he bites his lip and feels, despite himself, self-conscious. Attached to his shoulders by gold clasps is a long cape where the color of the shirt travels down and smoothly across the floor. But still, it swoops low to reveal the black lace back. The collar is lined with gold that travels down along the hemline of the shirt, and a simple leather belt is around his waist.

Maleek will probably love and _hate_ how low both the front and back go, especially with the black lace. At least it hides his hideous back scars. The front is low and open enough to reveal his collarbone and the middle area of his chest close to the beginning of his newly acquired abs.

Taking a deep breath, Roxas thanks the servants and makes his way downstairs. Guards and servants alike watch him, Roxas feeling his cheeks warm as he spots a couple of councilmen he's come to recognize, raise their eyebrows at him.

Making it downstairs, he finds the Queen already dressed and ready. Maleek and The Thirteen are posted, armored to the teeth and ready for departure. Hopefully they weren't waiting too long. Roxas sighs in relief as he becomes positive eyes will be on the Queen tonight from her dress. Though he has to admit, it's rather cute that they match.

The Queen of Valendia looks stunning in a red slim-fitting dress. Crystals and stones in various cuts and sizes are artfully embroidered and draped to resemble chokers and necklaces on the nude neckline of the backless matte gown complete with high slit on the leg and a slight train. Silver cuff bracelets engulf her wrists, multiple rings on her fingers.

Next to her is Prince Kiros and more excitement fills Roxas as he descends the stairs, catching the Queen's attention. She smiles and gasps, Kiros following her gaze and his eyebrows rise high. All heads turn and Roxas simply keeps a smile.

"Hello to you, too." he says.

"Roxas, you look incredible." The queen smiles as she approaches him with open arms and brushes kisses against his cheek.

"You're not wearing that." Maleek's voice breaks through. Everyone turns to find his face serious, but Edge is chuckling slightly.

A guard approaches with a cloak, and Roxas gives another coy smile. "According the Queen, I am."

As he makes his way into of his cloak, he makes sure to angle his back away from the crowd – so they can get an eyeful of the exquisite black lace that covers the open back (and mostly covers his scars from the mines). He feels the eyes of the servants on him, too, but pretends not to notice.

The ebony black of his cloak made the red stand out even more as he passes others in the hall, keeping his coy smile intact.

"Forgive me for my outburst, my Lady," Maleek says as he bows to Rydia. "But don't you think it's a little inappropriate for a ball?"

"I think it's fine." She says without hesitation. "It'll defiantly separate him from the rest of the crowd. And besides, I want everyone to know he's with me."

As Queen Rydia speaks, Kiros comes up to Roxas and smiles, running a hand along the assassin's shoulders, and carefully across his back. When he meets Roxas' front again, he simply shakes his head. "At least it still separates you from the common rabble." He says in Galtea.

"I should hope so. I had doubts myself." Roxas chuckles.

"What made you change your mind?"

All Roxas has to do is smile mischievously and flick his eyes towards Maleek who is since rolling his eyes and ruffling his hair after the Queen waves her hand off him ending their discussion. Kiros chuckles and shakes his head once more. "I never assumed you for the torturous type."

Roxas shrugs. "I'm an assassin. It's what I do. And might I say you look wonderful as well."

"Thank you my friend." Kiros is dressed in a lovely attire of opal, the shirt's long translucent sleeves bloom out loosely as they pass his elbow. It's a relatively clear outfit, free of sequence and jewels – and if Roxas had to admit, the simplicity of it made Kiros look even more stunning as his gold and beaded jewelry draw attention to his elegant neck, his toned arms and thin waist with a brown leather belt. Its long, chiffon pleated pants puddles at his feet.

"You look good, Roxas." Edge finally says, approaching Kiros and Roxas.

"Thanks." Roxas shrugs.

"Had I known red was your color, I would've given you a tunic long before." Vincent says. Roxas turns and manages to find the scrunch in his cheeks, indicating he was smiling. "But the last thing I need is you looking better than me."

Roxas chuckles and looks to Cecil and Kain. "I feel bad that you all don't get to enjoy the party."

The twins shrug. "We've had our fun." Cecil says. "I actually prefer to watch the guests and rather, enjoy the atmosphere of the party."

"So, I never asked, where will the party be held?" Roxas asks as he watches the Queen ease herself into a white fur cloak.

"It's at Kadaj's manor, but it's set in the garden." She smiles.

"Garden? It must be twenty degrees outside."

"Oh, you haven't seen Kadaj's garden. It's like a whole other world. It's where he likes to keep a majority of his parties." The Queen adjusts her white gloves and then suddenly claps her hands. "Alright, come everyone. We have a party to enjoy."

Roxas smiles as he watches the members of The Thirteen shift into their animal forms, taking notice of a quick wink from Edge before he shifts into the falcon and flies out the door. Cecil and Kain follow, Seymour slithering out of the doors, and Kuja, Laguna and Vincent follow.

Roxas looks to Maleek, still a stern expression on his face. Roxas approaches him and takes his hands, leaning close to his ear, and dropping his voice. "While you might not like it now, just imagine what it'll be like when you take it off."

Maleek purrs, and Roxas can feel Maleek's hands squeeze his own. Probably some form of a way to stop himself from groping Roxas. "Let's hope you still have enough energy by the end of the night."

With that, Roxas spares him a quick kiss and hurries to the Queen's side, letting her link her arm with his. Hopping in the gloriously gold and white carriage, with a snap of the reins, they are off.

The trip would've taken them several hours, had it not been for Seymour and his powers of the arcane to teleport them directly to The Greylands. Then it was a simple hour ride to the castle. The village was incredibly different from that of the Royal City, for here the buildings had a mixture of stone and wood, the roofs a dark blue color. The stone and darkness would've made the town seem ominous, but really, it's as lively as the Royal City.

Kadaj's manor comes into view, and it is basically a miniature castle with its towers and spires and expanse of property. The carriage parks in the front, and footmen greet the Queen as she emerges.

It has a classical beach front elegance in an unrivalled position within the grounds of lush green grass. A large imposing entrance leads to the formal sitting room which in turn flows outside to large comfortable terraces all with breathtaking mountainous views. Incredible handmade kitchen with separate seating area, very much gives one a feeling of being in a family home.

An elegant marble staircase leads up to the bedrooms, including a master suite with his and hers bathrooms with dressing rooms. On the lower level is a spa area with huge indoor pool and training area plus home music room. The immaculate gardens feature a large heated pool, split level flower garden area and chiringuito with a large bonfire pit. A truly unique property built to the highest of standards.

Roxas links arms with the Queen and walk forth, following the guests in front of them. Already Roxas can hear the magnificent music and sounds of chatter, The Thirteen following close behind them; Edge and Vincent are already nowhere to be seen.

The trip to the garden was enough to make Roxas jubilant as decorative banners swopped across from lamppost to lamppost, the smell of delicious foods and exotic perfumes filled the air. Children are running with each other, carrying sticks that are spewing with sparks. The trunks of trees are wrapped with ribbons of red, yellow and orange. People are dressed elegantly and eventfully as they walk arm in arm with friends or lovers.

The greenhouse garden is enormous. A thick red-velvet curtain divides the entrance, and already Roxas can see streams of light breaking through the giant glass-domed ceiling, vines crawling along all of its sides and see the shadows of the already hundreds of party goers.

One of the Queen's acquaintances stops her to say hello. Roxas could tell Rydia didn't want to chat, but needing to uphold the royal reputation she asks him to head inside. Roxas nods and strode through ahead with the rest of the Thirteen.

Inside, his breath is taken right out of his lungs. The difference in temperature is so sudden and his cheeks are burning from the cold, sweat already on the back of his neck.

There are jugglers and fire-eaters, vendors selling wares and tents stripped of red and gold populating the spots. The dance girls, whose billowing skirts are sequenced in tendrils of vines, and then small huddles of musicians each playing their own cheerful number that has couples and children in merry gatherings. There are large alcoves lining the walls for privacy, occupied by dignitaries and people who would rather be somewhere else.

Roxas smiles widely as a servant girl comes up and asks to take his cloak, with a nod and a polite thank you, Roxas removes his cloak, and purposely angles himself so that she can see the black lace across his back. Kiros comes up to his side and links their arms. Beautiful servant girls hand him and Kiros glasses of sparkling wine, as the two move deeper.

Angling his head around, Roxas can already see The Thirteen taking their positions around the ballroom, and a majority of the women at the party already swopping in for conversation. Their eyes follow Roxas and Kiros as well, with Roxas' red and Kiros' opal, they are quite the opposite, and there is still the matter than Kiros is the Prince of Galtea. Whispers follow him as easily as the eyes.

Gazing around, Roxas can hardly believe they are in a greenhouse, it even as a stage and an orchestra pit! Excitement bubbles in his chest as he thinks of the performance that will happen. As of now, the stage only has a smaller, simpler band playing tunes for background effect.

"This is astonishing." Kiros says in Galtea.

Roxas looks to him and smiles. "I have to admit, it might be the best I've seen."

Kiros bursts into laughter. "You must be joking. You've seen parties at the castle, and all across Kingdom Hearts. How can this greenhouse be the best?"

"Probably because I'm not here to kill anyone . . . at least, I hope." Roxas says. While he wishes to enjoy himself, he's taken the liberty of packing weapons in his boots, on his sleeves, and hiding a few slim daggers in his belt. He prays to the gods he won't have to use it.

He still hasn't seen Duke Kadaj yet, and frankly he's quite happy about it. What is he supposed to say to him? Does he know who Roxas really is? Has Sephiroth been telling his siblings about Roxas? It's rather nerve-wrecking, yet stupid. He's met the King of Valendia, his siblings should be a snap.

Kiros and Roxas stop at one of the many tables lined with food, an elegant and detailed carved ice sculpture upon every one of them, along with fountains flowing chocolate. As Roxas pokes a toothpick into a karkelec, he hears heels coming up behind him. He turns in time to find Queen Rydia. She sighs and dramatically tosses her hair over her shoulders.

Roxas chuckles. "Pleasant conversation?"

"Oh my god that woman is so talkative. I love her, she is sweet, but now I feel like I need a nap."

"Would you like something to eat? I can fix you a plate." Roxas offers.

"Oh no, thank you youngling. My food intake is rather strict, even if I'm eating for two." She says bashfully as she pats her stomach.

Roxas smiles. "I'm so happy for you. So how far along are you?"

"I'm at least twelve weeks, going to be thirteen. I wanted to delay telling everyone until it was noticeable. Oh, I'm so excited to see what Kadaj thinks. He's going to be an uncle!" she claps rapidly.

Kiros comes up behind them with a plate filled with prawn fish. "What gender do you hope for?" he asks after taking a bite of the tail.

"Oh, at this point, I'm wonderfully blessed with anything. I still wish I could've adopted, but at least the gods have finally found me worthy of a child of my own." She smiles.

With his clean hand, Kiros steps forward and sets his hand on the Queen's stomach. Perhaps that's why she wanted to wear such a fitted dress. Kiros rubs his hands up and down and smiles. "This child is going to be blessed, My Lady. I can sense wonders awaiting you."

"Thank you Kiros." Her eyes flick over his shoulder and they widen. "Oh!" she says brightly. "There's Kadaj. Come Roxas, let's go and say hello!"

Without waiting for him to answer, or for him to finish drinking his glass, Queen Rydia takes Roxas' arm, nearly spilling the champagne on the floor. Roxas' nerves suddenly spike as he looks in the direction of where the Queen is heading. It's a larger alcove than the others, with a thin lace curtain and an upholstered, cushioned bench. Seated there is Kadaj with a couple of beautiful woman around him. Mood candles are behind him, setting his silver hair and alabaster skin gleam ethereally.

Roxas' heels slightly dig into the floor, and the Queen only looks to him and smiles gently. "Don't worry, Roxas." She whispers. "You'll be fine. Sephiroth has talked about you plenty to them."

"So they all know _everything_?"

"Yes, they do."

"Even my father and mother?"

Rydia nods. "And frankly I think that they admire you for it. For what you endured."

"You make it sound as if I'm a hero. I did what I had to do to survive."

"Of course, and that's what makes you a hero. Not many survive like you."

Roxas merely shakes his head, but quickly gathers himself as they come up the steps to the alcove. Kadaj notices them immediately and smiles. He turns to the women and Roxas can hear him asking them to excuse them. The ladies coyly whine but rise from their seats, their glittering gowns trailing behind them. They eye Roxas, but the assassin keeps his head forward, purposely adjusting his shoulders so that. He grins slyly.

"Rydia!" Kadaj's voice suddenly booms. So sudden that Roxas flinches.

He looks and finds the Queen squealing in joy as the two embrace one another. Roxas swallows thickly as he gazes at Kadaj's eyes while the Queen speaks with him.

Wow . . . they were _his_ eyes. A stunning turquoise blue with a ring of gold around the pupil. Kadaj had his eyes, but with Sephiroth's hair and body, and facial features.

Kadaj resembles Sephiroth to a great degree and is described by Vincent Valentine as a "larval" form of Sephiroth. Kadaj is wearing black leather clothing with gauntlets and a coat, which he keeps zipped up. The image of a single wing is sewn on the back of his coat as an allusion to Sephiroth.

He has shoulder-length silver hair that partially covers his face and green cat-like eyes. Across his back is a blade of epic proportions, the blade he had used to drive Kerwon's forces from Valendia long ago. Roxas knew the name of that blade: Souba, a katana with two parallel blades that he carries in its proud sheath.

Roxas was so busy staring that he almost missed it when the Queen introduced Kadaj to him. Roxas blinks and clears his throat. He sees Kadaj looking at him, and Roxas immediately bows. He hears the male chuckle and Roxas lifts to see him holding out his hand. He takes it and gives a firm handshake.

"It is good to finally put a face to Kingdom Heart's Assassin." Kadaj smiles. Roxas swallows slightly when he sees the sharpened canines of Kadaj's smile.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Roxas nods his head. "I am honored to meet you as well."

"Along with a little intimidated, it would seem." Kadaj chuckle. Roxas feels his cheeks flush as he thinks of his fear leeching off of him. Embarrassed, he clears his throat. "I won't deny, I expected more."

"Spending time in Gollund Mines isn't exactly good for a person's health." Roxas snaps, biting the inside of his cheek with mere regret.

But Kadaj simply nods. "My apologies. Her Highness Rydia has told me a lot about you and your trials. At least of what you've endured so far. It does seem like I'm the one who should be honored to be in your presence."

"Thank you, but there's nothing really special about me, I assure you Your Grace." Roxas says with a slight bow. "I'm nothing more than an assassin with powers."

"Come now," Kadaj chuckles. "At least give your blood some credit. It's probably what kept you alive all those years, and it's probably what made you the bet."

"I was the best because of my skill. My father trained me to not be so reliant on my elven instincts."

"I'm not denying that. You have your skills, but when you use your powers, you can't tell me that you don't feel stronger. Better."

"I did. I still do." Roxas gives him his best shy smile. Kadaj motions Roxas to join him on the cushioned seat in the alcove and Roxas wordlessly joins him as he continues. "And it's the reason why I was so afraid of it."

"Well when you're exposed to such a thing like your mother, you can't blame yourself for that." Kadaj assures. Roxas merely shakes his head while Kadaj accepts a glass of red wine from a serving girl. Queen Rydia sits on the other side of Kadaj, the Elven Duke being sectioned in the middle.

"Everyone keeps telling me that."

"Then why don't you listen? Your instincts had been sheltered away for so long that it's common you can't control it. I remember I gave my family more trouble than Yazoo after my first turning." Kadaj swirls the wine around in the glass, already half empty. "I almost envy you." Kadaj's voice suddenly drops low. It grows soft and husky. Nearly seductive. "The first time is always, intense."

"I still don't understand why I could barely fight off my mother." Roxas growls. "All she did was use a whistle. How was that even possible? How could a simple _whistle_ make my mind scatter like flies?"

Kadaj takes another long, delicate sip of his glass, Roxas nodding thanks to the serving girl when she gives him his own glass. "As much as many will deny, our instincts are similar to that of animals. It was shown in a study that Elves are receptive to higher sounds. Much like those animals, with high sounds, we lose all sense of where we are and who we are. The sound blurs everything, making it difficult to make even the slightest decision. So when get orders from someone, it's almost as if we trust anyone."

Roxas looks to Kadaj and finds his eyes distant. A thousand leagues away. A chill runs down Roxas' spine. "It's happened to you?"

"While I was in battle with my brothers. It took both Loz and Yazoo to wear me out. The battle went on for . . . I cannot say. The Dark Lord had found out about our weakness to sounds and took _full_ advantage, I assure you. All I remember was dropping to the ground with my brothers, a cold sweat coating our bodies, and both our weapons broken."

"A stand still?"

"It wasn't until Sephiroth came in from behind and cleared my mind did I survive. He then healed our brothers and we regrouped at the castle. I remember it was all dark. Just blackness all around me."

Roxas swallows as he remembers being trapped in his own mind. There was nothing. Just an endless abyss that was worse than Hell itself. Looking down at his glass of red wine, Roxas almost gags as it resembles the blood that he could feel coating his arms when he finally came to. Choking back a cough, Roxas sets the glass aside.

"I heard voices, but nothing happened until Sephiroth stopped me. It was like, a beam of light breaking through my mind. Breaking through that thick veil that shrouded my better judgment. I am forever in my brother's debt for it."

"Did you ever see anyone?" Roxas asks quietly. Queen Rydia has now taken up conversation with another noble who came over after seeing her crown and elegant attire.

"I did not." Kadaj turns to Roxas, their eyes meeting one another, and a chill running down Roxas' spine again. It was like being watched by a scorpion. All sharp angles, intriguing yet fearful. "I assume you did?"

"More than that. I saw the ones I loved. The ones that are . . . gone." Roxas says, his eyes watering at remembering Demyx and Ventus. Two beautiful souls that filled his world with a light that is now long forgotten. A light that is now so foreign, even with his amounts of happiness. Even with Maleek, even with things having settled with Axel and the crew, there is still something missing, that only Ventus and Demyx could replace. Demyx gave a whole new life to music and joy and flamboyancy, and Ventus . . .

Nothing can ever compare to what Ventus had gifted Roxas with. Roxas still misses him more than anyone can ever imagine. He was Roxas' first friend, and for some reason, Ventus accepted him. Maybe because he saw something in Roxas that was worthwhile.

If only he could find that thing.

Roxas looks down at his palm, at the long scar that traces across it. A memoire of his vow, his promise to Ventus to never kill in the name of darkness again.

Without him, something is still missing. There is a void that Roxas is starting to worry that can never be filled. He can carry on, but the thought still angers him that he is living his life without Ventus. He is lost, and all paths lead straight back to him.

How ridiculous. How ridiculous it is that his heart still beats and Ventus' does not. There are still days Roxas longs to be like him. To be _with_ him. Just lie cold in the ground, in silent bliss, be right beside him forevermore.

A once beautiful boy now buried in a cold earth.

'You are lucky." Kadaj's voice speaks. Roxas looks to him unaware that he had dropped his gaze. Kadaj's eyes are warm, the ring of gold brewing like embers in a hearth. "I've never heard of such a thing. It is astonishing."

Roxas gives a sad smile. "That's probably the only benefit of the entire situation."

"You heart still grieves. I understand." Kadaj lifts his hand and sets it on Roxas' chest. The assassin stiffens, wanting to lean away, but he lets the Grand Duke continue speaking. "It still beats strong, even through years of abuse. I can feel your power coursing through you. Warming you, forging you." Roxas sits still, transfixed by Kadaj's eyes. "Your heart refuses to stop beating, not matter what thoughts travel through you. Your spirit is still strong. And _that_ is why I admire you. That is why you should be proud of yourself."

Roxas merely shakes his head. "I wish I could."

"You will." Kadaj smiles. He tickles Roxas' chin and pats his shoulder. He takes a deep inhale through his nose sighs. "Now, that was certainly a deep topic to discuss for our first meeting, I apologize."

Kadaj rises from his seat and ruffles his hair. Roxas assures him it is fine, and takes Kadaj's hand without question when it extends out to him.

"I'm sure you didn't come here to discuss such matters. You have come to have a good time, and a good time we shall!" he says brightly. Roxas can't help but smile at the enthusiasm. "Come now, the night is still young!"

"Oh!" Queen Rydia chimes. "The orchestra is getting ready to play!"

Roxas turns his head and sure enough, the musicians are starting to unpack their instruments. Women and men dressed in black, the sheen of their instruments winking in the light. Roxas goes still as the gold curtain draws back, and at the center of the stage is a gorgeous and well-polished grand piano.

"Her Highness told me you played." Kadaj says, Roxas looking to him with his mouth still slightly agape in awe. The Duke chuckles. "Would you like to play?"

Roxas' cheeks flush. "Really?" Kadaj chuckles more when he hears the excitement in Roxas' tone. Kiros comes up behind them, brushing Roxas' arm and smiling. Roxas looks to him and smiles.

"Please, help yourself. I'm sure you can squeeze in one song before the show starts." Kadaj insists. Roxas looks to the Grand Duke with a smile that betrays his control, and then Kiros takes his hand and the two of them scurry up the stage. Roxas approaches the piano and smiles, his fingers brushing along the ivory keys. He pulls out the bench and takes a seat. His hands set atop the keys.

A trickle of notes. And then a slow melody of higher keys. Then there's a lower note, deep and so full of sorrow and anger.

Seated in profile at a grand piano, his hands are trailing back and forth over the keys. The music picks up once more, the pattern of trickling notes matching the movements of the beauty before him. His golden hair is shining in the light of the chandeliers, his bangs falling over his downturned face, concealing his features from view as he plays.

His hands, nimble and long-fingered, seemed to float over the piano keys. And yet the way he moves, jerky and quick between smooth slow-motion moments.

Rocking forward and back ever so slightly as he plays, he hums delicately with a wispy and ethereal voice, one infused with control, less like an angel's and more like that of a ghost, heartrending and full of mystery. An interlude of high notes trickled forth in a complicated pattern, accented by a few well-placed chords from the instrument's lower spectrum. This mixture of dark and light, high and low, hope and despairs, worked is hypnotic effect on the entirety of the garden, as though they are small children listening to an intricate story.

Over in the shadows, Maleek slowly emerges as he watches Roxas and the prince make the instrument come to life. There's a rather form of difference with playing an instrument, Roxas had once told him. Roxas had said that with musicians, there are those who play, and those who bring the instrument to life. He had explained it using the piano – on how, with certina musicians, hearing the sounds that come from the piano, it doesn't even seem like the person is playing. Really the piano has its own form of a personality, and is singing with its own voice.

It didn't make sense to Maleek, and Roxas said it didn't have to, and left it at that.

He could immediately tell that Roxas' imagination is controlling his hands as they danced across the white and black key. No doubt a tribute to those rebels. He let his emotions fuel the notes, the song as he plays. The unrelenting sorrow he feels, the pain, the agony. He lets it course through his body, his veins as he closes his eyes. Echoes – shreds of memories arising out of the void of his mind his rooms are so silent that the music seems obtrusive.

Leaning against the towering pillar, Maleek stands, utterly transfixed. He never would've thought he would see a man pouring his secrets into a pianoforte. The notes burst from Roxas' hand, playing upon the flats and sharps. It was so sad, the tune and yet somehow befitting not only those who have gone, but also to himself somehow.

He hoped Roxas knew everyone is watching, and if not, he doesn't really know how to approach the situation. If he goes and makes himself known, Roxas will stop; but if he waits until Roxas is done – if he ever gets done –then Roxas will have Maleek's head for not saying anything. Both result in embarrassment for his. He can't seem to tear his eyes away from Roxas. It all seem too human for Kingdom Heart's Assassin.

Here, he's not a killer. Merely a man who is letting his emotions flow forth in a beautiful display of music.

Maleek watches as Kiros steps closer to the bench, his hand still folded in front of him. Roxas doesn't move, he doesn't open his eyes. With all of his year of assassinating experience, Maleek is surprised that the prince manages to sit down on the bench with him.

And then he sees the small streaks of tears down Roxas' cheeks. Maleek's cheeks feel warm before he even knew he was crying. Quickly, Maleek clears his throat and wipes them away before anyone can see.

Roxas feels Kiros lean into him, their arms pressed together. He looks to the assassin, and slowly he opens his eyes, angling his heads towards him, and yet Roxas' fingers still play flawlessly.

Roxas' eyes are slightly red as is his nose. Kiros wipes one of Roxas' cheeks with his thumb. Slowly, Roxas' hands slow, tickling the keys ever so gently as they glide down the lower spectrum and end with a soft touch of a chord. Then his fingers slide off the keys and into his lap, their echo reverberating through the chamber.

Applause. Roxas' head turns towards the garden and sees a majority of the crowd has since stopped what they were doing to watch him. Even some of the musicians have tears in their own eyes, the music having more than mere emotion to them. It had meaning – they knew what that kind of loss was, what that kind of agony, anger and sorrow. While his cheeks flush red, Roxas adores the clapping. He stands with Kiros and takes a bow. Then the prince escorts them off stage and down the three steps towards Kadaj.

"I apologize for the disturbance." Roxas says, struggling to keep from giggling as he says is. Behind Kadaj, the Queen is wiping her eyes and fanning her face.

"Not at all. In fact, it was wonderful to watch. You pay almost as well as you kill."

"I hope to be even better." Roxas bashfully smiles.

"Come, it's nearly time for the show."

Roxas and Kiros follow Kadaj and Rydia as they are led under a mezzanine and through a small door and up a staircase. A couple of servant boys bow and part the thick crimson curtain and Roxas strode through and takes a seat closest to the stage.

As he sets his glass of wine on the armrest, he is still so stunned Kadaj granted them had such a wondrous seat. Then again, this was Queen Rydia.

Their private box was on the side of the cavernous hall, near enough to the center so that he has an unobstructed view of the sage and the orchestra pit. He feels like he is ten years old again, sitting on his uncle's knee as he watches the musicians prep their instruments and walk back and forth handing out the sheets of music.

Kiros sits next to him, peering over the ledge in wonder. Roxas observes the floor below, taking in the glittering jewels, the silk dresses, the golden glow of the sparkling wine in flute glasses, the rumbling and murmuring of the crowd. If there was any other place where he felt most at home, if there was a place where he felt happiest, it is here, in a garden, with the red velvet cushions and the glass chandeliers and the gilded dome ceiling high, high above.

Somewhere in the garden, a gong sounds, and people hurry to their seats, quickly brushing kisses with each other and trying not to spill their glasses. The chandeliers are hauled upwards into the dome and dimmed, and the crowd quiets to hear the opening notes as the orchestra begins to play. A world of shadows and mist. A world where creatures and myths dwell in the dark movements before dawn.

Roxas sets a hand on his chest as the piano player emerges from behind the curtains.

She is a lovely woman, set in her early thirties. She wears a lovely ice-blue dress that's off the shoulder with a large slit going up her right leg. She bows her head, her golden curls falling over her shoulder. A glittering headband pulling back her bangs.

The moment she sits down in the chair, the moment her foot sets on the petal, the moment her fingers set over the white keys, everything Roxas knew and everything he was fades away to nothing.

The music annihilates him.

There are not dancers, not even actors. It's just the pianist and the orchestra. And the story it tells is certainly lovely. By the gods – the music.

Has there ever been anything more beautiful, more exquisitely painful? Roxas clenches the arms of his seat, his nails digging into the velvet. His heart thundered with the pounding of the magnificent drum as the music hurtles towards its finale, sweeping him away in a flood.

He can practically see the picture and story before him. Axes flash, broad swords swing. The piercing ring of armor. Horses running with their riders wielding polished shields. The sounds of a horn and calling of the battle cry.

With each beat of the drum, each trill of the flute, and blare of the horn, he feels it all along his skin, along his bones. The instruments quiet down, his anticipation growing, and then they boom together in a clash of cymbals, Roxas nearly jumping out of his eat. The music turns ominous, urgent, his feet feeling the need to flee. They drums and cymbals clang again.

The music breaks him apart and puts him back together, only to rend him asunder again and again. His eyes never leave the piano player, watching her hands move along the keys, so fast, so light and so nimble . . . a skill Roxas can only dream to attain. What he had played, this is nothing to what she could do.

And then the climax, the compilation of all the sounds he had loved best, amplified until they echo into eternity. As the notes swell, a gasp broke from him, setting the tears in his eyes spilling down her face. He doesn't care if Kiros saw.

Then everything drops to near silence, the flutes and clarinets holding a note, then carefully drifting along. Roxas is shaking as the picture becomes grey. There is nothing buy ash and the skeletal remains of bodies and trees. Everything was devoured.

A bassoon has its solo of tired and observing gaze. The stringed instruments flutter and hum. And then, a French horn takes up the familiar tune from the beginning, soft, tired, but still gentle.

With a wondrously agonizing build, and a glissando of the harp, the instruments pick up the tune, and soon the flutes and violins are in tune with one another, slowly, slowly building until the notes lift Roxas up from his seat. Then the pounding of the drums and goosebumps run along his skin. He gasps.

The drums burst with sound and Roxas suddenly sees a tree sprout from the earth. Another beat, another trunk sprouts. The wondrous rattling of a triangle. The music is now full of excitement, happiness, jubilance – freedom.

Life. Death. And Rebirth.

Then, silence.

The silence was the worst thing he'd ever heard. The silence brings back everything around him. Applause erupts, and he is on his feet, crying still as he claps until his hands ache. He remains clapping even as Kiros stops and resumes sitting in his chair. The ovation continues for a while, with each section of the orchestra standing and bowing their heads, the pianist forever standing on stage, forever being showered with flowers. Roxas claps through it all, even as his tears dried, even as the crowd began shuffling out.

If it weren't for the seat, Roxas would've thrown every last coin to her if it meant she would play again.

Kiros doesn't abandon him, the prince merely sits in his seat patiently waiting, his eyes never leaving Roxas' face. But even after he finished clapping, Roxas remains staring towards the curtained stage, watching the orchestra begin to pack their instruments. Kiros is still there, awake and watching.

Reluctantly, but with excitement ruling him over, Roxas takes the prince's hand and he pulls Roxas to him. He spins Roxas in a tight circle, and quickly they exchange to different partners. The world blends into a mesh of chaos, color, and noise.

Roxas is thrown into revolution after revolution, almost swinging into another pair of dancers who scamper aside, laughing. With his instincts to learn quickly rising up, Roxas focuses hard on the beat of the clapping and the one-two steps he memorized by watching. He's swept into another spin.

This time he feels himself twirl effortlessly into the movements and gains a new partner as she rotates into the circle. He's picked up the dance. Now it's as if he's known the dance perfectly, even though he's only waltzed once in his life.

His feet follow through with the steps, and Roxas soon finds his lips expanding wider. He looks around and finds Kiros in the crowd. The prince turns to him and laughs, his white teeth gleaming, and they link arms, rotating into the next partner. Roxas' ribs do hurt, but only from the constant contraction of laughter. The satisfaction and . . . joy he has, reduces other feelings to dust.

The assassin and the prince spin again at the twiddle of a flute and Kiros laughs with such enthusiasm. Roxas then feels his chest heave again with exhausted laughter. With another link of arms, Roxas is spun again, this time with Maleek as his partner. They two spin so that his back faces Maleek and they link hands. Maleek's one hand on his waist as he guides the assassin into a promenade.

Giggling with drunken laughter, Roxas follows, his eyes trailing to the hand that rests on his side, Maleek's fingers cupping his ribs with a touch as light as a butterfly. Dancers churn around them like storm-tossed flowers, their heads held to either side as they whirl with abandonment. Spinning out one last time, Roxas is at the center of the dancing circle, no partner, but with others whose direction he follows. With the tempo infecting his veins, Roxas smiles and laughs and even flutters his eyes shut as he now effortlessly spins himself with the others, his feet tapping to the beat.

Then just as he opens his eyes, he reaches out a hand and it's grasped by, to his surprise, Maleek and just as they sweep into one another, but song ends with a final clasp of the instruments. The crowd cheers and claps, and the two girls stare at one another, their eyes locked. The smile on Maleek's face makes Roxas nearly want to laugh and embrace the man, but it slowly goes away as he looks around at the crowd slowly diminishing.

"The night is still young." Roxas excitedly skips a little and pulls the Captain with him.

Edge and Laguna have joined in the dancing. It actually surprised Maleek at how . . . wild Roxas is tonight. He knew Roxas adored parties but Roxas was usually a wallflower in that he was on missions, and kept his focus on only that. Roxas would indulge in the sips of wine and wondrous dancing, but nothing like this.

Whenever things got like this, Roxas usually set off to the side to simply watch the crowd and listen to how to music practically controlled the mass with invisible fingers.

Here, Roxas has completely let himself loose. It's almost . . . funny. Maleek pictures Roxas being strict and stiff with her Guild protocol, saying how he has to stay focused on his mission – and here, here Roxas is sampling sips of wine from a shared glass, his hair is unbound and wild and he moves in the rhythm of the other youths of Valendia. His hands are raised high with the rest, his body jumping and moving, flipping his hair around his head in a golden halo.

Roxas is high on adrenaline and freedom and the joys of being young.

Of course, that could have something to do with him being trapped in the mines. And that's another thing that tugs at Maleek's insides. Roxas was sent to Gollund Mines, the place itself practically being a death camp. He stayed there for a year, mining in the darkness, hearing the sounds of people's screams – both insane and of death, has seen blood splattered across the silver and the stones. And after six months, he tried to escape, resulting in the most gruesome deaths and carnage to be put into the books.

Maleek shivers at the thought of what Roxas could've looked like: covered in blood with an insane wildness in his eyes.

And yet, he can still laugh. He can still smile. He can still . . . _live_.

It's weird to think that Maleek was out in the open world, while Roxas was swallowed in darkness. Maleek dealt with drunken brawls while Roxas dealt with whippings. Maleek dealt with petty thievery while Roxas dealt with starvation.

But he is here now, and Maleek is not willing to let him go again.

Roxas dances and dances. The beautiful youths of the festival have gathered near the square where the musicians have officially posted themselves and the crowd gravitates towards them. Bottles of sparkling wine passed from hand to hand, mouth to mouth. Roxas swigged from all of them.

Around midnight, the music had pulled in almost all of the party goers; becoming a frenzied, sensual sound that had Roxas clapping his hands and stomping his feet in time. People stood scattered throughout the square dressed like peacocks and jesters, demons, and queens. There are feather masks and silk masks, glittering gowns with belled sleeves, top hats and long cloaks. All of his cares seemed to have dissipated through the combination of wine and atmosphere, lost in the throng of young people spinning and flinging and hopping about. The movement itself embodying wildness and recklessness and immortality of youth.

For once, he will drown himself into the feeling, the excitement, the craze of the night. The tiles of the gleaming mosaic beneath his feet sparkles like stars. Here, reality doesn't exist, it's just lights and music and the howls of ecstasy.

Sweat runs along every part of his body, but he tips his head back, arms upraised, content to bask in the music. Someone takes his hand and spins him fast enough his cloak blooms out like a skirt and everything blurs into streams of colors. The sensation sends sparks shooting through her. This is more than a party: it is a performance, an orgy, and a collaboration of cultures until they are unified into one single entity. Cultures have become one on this night.

The music shifts again, a riot of pounding drums and the staccato notes of the violins. Kiros is not too far from him, his bouncing braids shining like a beacon under the lights. Many of the festival goers stay either outside watching, or simply occupy other areas of the districts, leaving the dancefloor to the young and beautiful.

The clock tower overlooking the citizens and the city strikes three – three! How had so many hours pass? He knew his father would disapprove of him tonight. He had spent years training her to avoid being one of those youths, not to mention The Thirteen are still watching. And yet here he is now, drunk off his mind and sweating like a pig.

But the music is still infecting him, addicting as the adrenaline through him. Roxas takes a small stumble back, bumping his elbow into the woman behind him. The woman apologizes and continues dancing. Roxas jumps with the rest of the crowd, rotating in a circle, and then feels his feet falter.

He's about to fall, when a strong arm snaps out and his world takes a sickening spin. His body is pulled up and he finds a pair of sapphire eyes. Roxas can smell Maleek's body, he wasn't even sweaty in the slightest.

Roxas drunkenly giggles. "Hey handsome."

"Hey." Maleek says, his stern tone makes Roxas' stomach tighten. Or perhaps he's going to vomit. "I think we should go."

"What? Is the Queen ready?"

"No, but –"

"Then I'm not going." Roxas says, pushing himself off of Maleek and out of his grip. Roxas takes two steps away, but a couple of women linked by the hands cut in front of him. Unable to stop in time, he wobbles, and Maleek's arm is there again, around his waist.

"Roxas, you're drunk."

"So?"

"So, this is a dangerous. I think you need to sit down."

"No." Roxas says, trying to wriggle his way out of Maleek's grip. "I deserve to have fun tonight," he says, unable to stop the childish behavior as he complains. He stomps his foot. "I never get to have any fun! I'm always training and running and stabbing and jumping. I just want this one night to feel like a normal boy."

Maleek's expression softens and he see the grunt he does as his throat bobs. "Roxas . . ."

His soft tone made Roxas' anger stumble. Roxas swallows, his head spinning. He approaches him again and this time rests his head into Maleek's chest. He feels Maleek's arms wrap around him, feels his cheek rest against Roxas' hair. After a couple of deep breaths, he pulls away and simply stares at him.

Bringing up his hand, Roxas closes his eyes briefly as Maleek cups his cheek, caressing Roxas' cheekbone with his callus fingers. Roxas studies the captain's chiseled features, memorizes the texture of his five o'clock shadow, and imbeds the color of his eyes into mind, so that she won't forget a single ounce of him.

Then Maleek kisses Roxas' brow and gives him a smile, even though it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Alright," he says softly, his voice somehow understandable through the roar of the music. Roxas can barely hear his own thoughts. But seeing Maleek, embracing his handsomeness, Roxas feels a warmth feeling boil very, very low. Roxas leans close and connects their lips, the aroma of white wine still fresh on his tongue.

Maleek's lips move in that erotic motion, and Roxas is not fully content with ripping Maleek's clothes off.

Maleek leans back and jerks his chin towards the dancing crowd. "Go have fun."

With that, he turns and walks his way out of the crowd. Roxas stares after him. Then a hand claps on his shoulder and he turns to find Kiros smiling with cheeks red and strands of his hair plastered to his forehead.

The princess sighs and says brightly. "I'll be heading off. I'm afraid I don't feel well."

"Oh, well alright. Did you need anyone to escort you?" Roxas asks, his voice drowning out by the music.

"I think I will be fine. But thank you." Kiros chuckles.

"Where will you go?"

"Kadaj has offered me a temporary break in the manor. I shall see you but the end of the night." Kiros smiles.

With that, the prince leaves, the partygoers making a path before his wake is swallowed by the skirts of gowns.

Roxas smiles broadly as the girl pulls him into a circle of dancing girls, and the revelry takes hold of Roxas once again.

The stars seem extra bright tonight. Roxas doesn't know how long he's been dancing with the youths, bathing in the company of flowers – but it only feels like seconds when he hears a bloodcurdling scream.

A chill runs down his spine. The crowd parts. Women scream.

He turns to find Queen Rydia on the floor, blood trickling down her beautiful gown, and arrow in her womb.


	54. Chapter 27 (Part Two)

"The queen has been shot!"

Maleek is already there with Seymour and Vincent, holding the queen's shoulders as they try to lift her to her feet. She cries n agony and pain, her makeup smearing and her blood permeating her dress. Roxas just stands there, the room . . . no, the world still spinning. His heart sinks.

With that angle of trajectory . . .

There's a whistle in the air.

Without thinking, Roxas shifts into his elven form, already the world settling down. He's in front of the Queen and whacks another arrow aimed for her head. The arrow whirls through the air and whizzes past Maleek's ear sticking to the back wall.

Immediately Roxas sends another dagger flying straight and a black shadow leaps off the architrave diving for the crowd. People scream and scatter as the assassin hops across two of heads of the guests before landing in the middle of a circle of guards.

The first guard she spins kicks and knocks him out instantly. As another guard tries to even pull his sword the assassin grabs him by the forearm and throws him over and to the ground.

He sees the purple of the cloak, the darkness of the shadows rippling off of her like smoke of a fire. The Faceless.

She leaps over the body, her leg jerking and sending a crest of daggers through the air, Roxas brings up his arms, blocking his face. The arrows ricochet off, the fabric of his sleeves ripping to reveal the enchanted vambraces given to Roxas by Zexion on his birthday.

"Get the Queen out of here!" Maleek screams.

Edge and Vincent take the Queen by her arms, while the rest of the Thirteen hurry the guests out of the garden.

Another guard grabs the assassin from behind and as two more run towards her, she kicks her legs to the side, nailing both in the chest before wrenching herself free and spin kicking the guard holding her. When all are down, she draws two serrated daggers sprints towards the direction of Roxas and Maleek.

"Roxas you get out of here too!"

"No!" Roxas snarls.

In a flash the Faceless Assassin is there, wielding two daggers, hurtling towards them from the air. Roxas brings up his arm against to block the blow. The impact sends him stepping back to his own surprise. No, it's no surprise. He's drunk. Even with his elven instincts in place, the world is still blurry around the edges, the sound louder in his ears than they should be.

The assassin continues to lash her arms out at Roxas, quick and precise like striking vipers. Roxas continuously blocks with his vambraces, sparks flying. She's fast; fast enough that he can't risk reaching down to grab his own daggers.

Thankfully as she's about to strike again, Maleek comes in from the side, kicking her away. The assassin rolls but she is on her feet in an instant, not dropping her weapons. She sprints towards them again and Maleek readies with his bare hands, his sword kept sheathed at his sides.

The two collide and Maleek blocks all of her attacks as she tries to strike. Roxas stare, rather dumbfounded, his hand aching to launch a blade straight into the assassin's heart, but something seems . . . off. And it's not just because of his intoxication.

Maleek has a reason for not drawing his blades. He usually draws them when he knew they were a threat. Isn't she one? She shot the queen. And then, when Maleek manages to disarm the assassin and she tries to retaliate by kicking out his feet, Roxas sees it. Her form is off. It's sloppy. She tries to throw punch after punch, but Maleek dodges with maddening ease. He moves with a steadied, practice, expert grace and she – she's almost below a level novice. Perhaps her shot at the queen was just laced with luck.

But why send someone who's so . . .?

"Roxas!"

Blinking, Roxas looks up in time to see the assassin hurtling towards him. Her foot meets its mark in his stomach, the pain reaching back to his spine. Roxas tumbles across the floor, sliding until he hits one of the many thick columns in the garden.

He opens his eyes to find the Faceless assassin thrusting her dagger towards him, Roxas ducks and rolls out of the way, kicking out her feet. The assassin moves with the fall, rolling along her side towards Roxas, then spinning herself up. Her foot nails him in the jaw.

Roxas grunts in pain, rolling along the floor and on his feet again. The Faceless assassin is there, and Roxas can't help but grin despite the blood trickling down the corner of his mouth. As the Faceless goes to punch him, Roxas ducks and kicks her in the right side. Then he elbows her in the left before and striking hard with an uppercut. The Faceless grunts in pain, but when Roxas grabs her by the neck, ready to pound her into the ground, her hand grips his forearm and suddenly he feels lighting shoot up his arm.

Roxas screams, and his grip immediately loosens, his muscles stiffening. He stumbles back, waiting for the shock, for the tingling, for the pounding in his head to stop, but once the lightning stops, he feels a punch left and right, then right and left. The air leaves his lungs as the Faceless rams her knew into his sternum, nausea clenching his stomach.

Roxas falls to the ground, grunting and the world spinning at dizzying speeds. It doesn't help either when he has to swiftly roll to avoid the blade of a sword embedding into his long red cape. Roxas struggles for a moment, reducing to cutting off the cape with his dagger before another sword stick into the piece that was just connected to his shoulder.

Pushing himself up on his hands and knees, Roxas looks up and another kick to his face sends him tumbling like a pebble across water. He stops, banging his head against – something. He can't tell now.

Water and pebbles trickle down the side of his neck, then down across his cheek and down his neck. The fountain. He crashed into the fountain.

Gods, his world is spinning. It's like things are moving too fast for him to catch up. He can't get his eyes to focus, his motor control is shit and his head is pounding. Maleek is suddenly there, going head to head with the assassin in close combat. Maleek purposely takes steps forward as he throws punch after successful punch, herding the assassin back away from Roxas.

Hands are on Roxas' shoulder, and he only struggles once before a familiar voice whispers in his ear. "It's me!" Laguna says.

Relief makes Roxas' shoulders sag as Laguna lifts him, draping an arm around his strong column of a neck. The two of them look over to Maleek and the Faceless Assassin, Maleek dodging all of her moves easily. Roxas grunts in annoyance and disappointment in himself as he watches Maleek nail her left and right, left and right.

Maleek blocks her dagger and then rams his knee into her stomach. The assassin grunts and as she's doubled over, Maleek brings his elbow forward before slamming it into the back of her neck. She falls to the ground, slump.

Maleek, his face stern and serious, binds the assassin's wrists before approaching Laguna and Roxas. Kain and Cecil walking. "Hmm, not much a scene you left. I'm surprised." Kain says, referring to the garden staying in one piece. It would've been funny had Maleek at least chuckled. But there's nothing to laugh about.

"How's the Queen?" he asks.

"She'll live." Cecil affirms. "But we're still waiting on a full diagnostic from the doctors."

"Something isn't right." Maleek says. He turns to the assassin unconscious on the floor "She seemed too easy."

"I could see it." Roxas says, regretting the words instantly when Maleek looks to him and narrows his eyes. But he holds his tongue, knowing better than to chastise Roxas for not listening to him. How was he supposed to –?

Oh, wait – yes, he should've known. He even packed those daggers he used for this exact reason. It was the first _basic_ lesson his father taught him. Be prepared for anything. He was ready, and yet he let himself go. His heart sinks.

He has now reached a level below: Disgrace, and Embarrassment.

For the first time, he let himself have fun, and in result, the Queen got shot and he's made an embarrassment of himself.

It's his fault the Queen got shot. He was supposed to protect her.

"But why would anyone –?" Roxas starts but Kain interjects.

"It was a distraction."

"What?" Maleek and Roxas say in unison.

"The Queen wasn't the only target tonight. I had heard there's supposed to be an assassination on Prince Kiros tonight as well."

Roxas' heart sinks and he can feel his skin grow numb. Everything seems to freeze.

"What?" he asks softly. So quietly he couldn't hear it over his already pounding blood.

"Because he is allied with the King of Valendia, and because he is the Prince of Galtea, home of the Galtean Alliance – a rebellion movement opening up to those who wish to go against Kerwon. I heard some Kerwonean soldier hired a Faceless assassin to try and end him tonight."

Everything is slipping away, and suddenly Kadaj's manor feels so far away. Roxas' hands feel far away, his mind, his control . . .

"Those bastards." Cecil spits. "They'll do anything to keep themselves ahead."

"I'm sure he'll be fine. Did you get a look at his guards? Hulking males." Laguna waves off.

"I don't know. Kerwoneans aren't afraid to get down and dirt if it means they're ahead of the game, and the Faceless certainly don't leave a job unfinished –"

Every one of the restraints Roxas had locked in place after he'd rampaged through Gollund Mines snaps free.

A grunt of a male and the quick pace of footsteps echoes through the garden. Heads turn to find the Laguna doubled over holding his stomach.

The doors are open, letting in the cold breeze of the outside.

"Roxas!"

* * *

The assassin sprints through the streets, her boots pounding against the cobblestone.

Her feet are bounding across like a stallion. Her hood is over her head, her cowl covering her face. The chill of the winter night doesn't even phase her as she keeps her eyes on the manor. Her heart thunders as she hurtles across the streets.

Her cloak trailing behind her, she's a phantom of the night. Pumping her arms at her sides she wills herself to be faster.

Kadaj's manor comes into view. Guards are all along the outside. She draws her swords without even caring about them seeing her.

One of them tries to stop her, but his leg is already slashed open, leaking blood before he even tells her to halt. The others are dismembered and lying in puddles of blood in seconds.

She's inside, and her she slips into the shadows, scanning her perimeter. While keeping to the shadows, her feet keep their speed, barely making a sound as her cloak shrouds her in darkness. She sheathes her swords to keep them from leaving a trail behind her.

She make her way up the stairs, quickly finding a set of doors leading to an outside balcony. Like a snake in the grass she's back outside in the cold, crawling across the bricks like a spider.

Because of her expulsion with the guards, she's on a time crunch. The giant windows of the hallway come into view and her eyes quickly scan the inside. There's no sign of the prince.

The assassin's heart jumps, her mind doing a quick scan of all other places she would go tonight. Nothing outside.

There's only one other place she can be.

The assassin looks up and finds the balcony to the prince's chambers. Quickly she climbs to the closest balcony and slips inside the doors, the warmth enough to make her skin sweat. She's in the hallway of the prince's chambers, just a left and a right and she'll be at the door.

With everyone gathered in the garden, silence is unneeded. The assassin sprints down the hallway, weaving her way towards the prince's chambers.

Two more guards are present at the doors, and just as they lay eyes on her, she disables them and renders them helpless in seconds. Blood drips from her swords.

Their howls of pain don't reach her. She can't hear anything over her pounding heart, like the beat of a heavy drum. Her swords are stained with blood, splattered on her clothes.

She rams her foot into the door, shattering the locks into pieces.

The assassin beholds the room.

The door to the balcony of the chamber is open. Its lace curtains billowing in the chilling breeze. Nothing is shattered, in fact it looks as if they were delicately opened.

And sitting in the chair . . .

Sitting there . . . there he was.

The assassin pulls her hood down.

"Why hello lovely." The assassin smiles crazily, voice laced with deadly calm.

The world slows to the beat of an ancient, ageless drum.

"No! No –!"

Deathly screams, splashing of blood and ripping flesh erupt from the chambers.

* * *

Maleek rushes through the streets with the rest of the Thriteen, trying their best to keep up with Roxas who is yards ahead. What started out as a fun night is going to end in bloodshed. All of the members of the Thirteen are sprinting as if the winds of time are pushing them forward towards Prince Kiros' chambers in Kadaj's manor.

Roxas had already left the garden, and The Thirteen had no choice but to follow after him. If it weren't for the red of his attire, Roxas would've been invisible in the darkness. With the red cape gone, Maleek can see the black mesh of lace, his golden hair gleaming in the moonlight.

Maleek's heart stopped when he heard it was a Faceless. His whole body practically stopped. If it weren't for Roxas sprinting off, Maleek would've just stayed frozen.

This is bad. They can't end Prince Kiros. They _can't_!

Maleek leads the pack as they follow Roxas, Cecil and Kain at his sides, Vincent bringing up the rear. Edge, Kuja, Seymour and Laguna stayed behind to guard and heal the queen and the guests.

Roxas is running faster than Maleek has ever seen him, even in his elven form. He doesn't look back, even when Maleek calls out to him. How does he know where to go? They only saw briefly the path leading to the manor from the garden. How does he –?

Suddenly Roxas takes a sharp right turn, Maleek almost skidding to a stop. Instead, he fixes his feet and keeps going forward. They pass the ally that Roxas turned down and he's already gone. There's nothing there.

Maleek swears, but only hopes that Roxas knew what he was doing and where he was going.

"Maleek?" Vincent questions.

"Let him go." Maleek orders, he and the pack keeps moving.

They keep on the straight path towards Kadaj's manor. The lights emanating from the window give a warm buttery glow. The black gates are cracked open, the bodies of guards lying in puddles of blood. Maleek's heart speeds up.

With his feet carrying him forward, Maleek shoves his way through the front doors, hitting the stairs, barely taking in his surroundings. The twins guard the doors, drawing their weapons and searching for any signs of the intruder.

They hit the stop of the stairs and a bloodcurdling scream makes Maleek's skin crawl. They turn down the familiar hallway, gasps and curses erupting from the group when they behold the wooden doors. The guards that were assigned to watch the prince lay on the floor with their throats cut from ear to ear, their internal organs spilling out onto the stone.

The door to the prince's chambers . . . it's been forced open.

Maleek prays for speed in his step as he crosses the threshold and –

Maleek beholds the room.

There is blood everywhere.

It's splattered across the walls, like someone had exploded and it's smeared along the floor like the body was dragged to and fro.

And at the center of the room . . .

At the center of the room . . .

Roxas.

Gods – it's Roxas. But at the same time, it isn't. How did he . . .?

He is entirely covered in blood. It covers his face, his arms, his legs. The blades of his weapons have lost their shine in turn for the rustic coating. There is nothing mortal or, real – nothing of this world. That black fire burns through all thought and feeling until all remains is his rage and his prey.

Maleek stands at the center of the doorway, gazing at Roxas, and the Faceless Assassin's broken body before him. It's empty, artfully mutilated, so cut up that a thick puddle of blood turns the floor back and tainting the tips of her auburn hair. Daggers were driven through her wrists and ankles, deep cuts along her legs, one eyes gouged out and her chest cavity open to see the side of her heart.

Gods above . . .

Prince Kiros' guards are also dead, their bodies chopped up into bits. People file in behind him, and they fan out around Maleek.

No one approaches Roxas, and Maleek can feel his knees quaking – in fear. Roxas just, stares at the Faceless Assassin, his shoulders haunched forward, his arms limp at his side, holding bloodied blades, his nostrils flaring and heaving through his teeth.

Maleek's eyes flick to the assassin, looking past the shredded skin, white bones protruding from places. He . . . he recognizes this assassin. Her alabaster skin, burnt-blue eyes and flaming auburn red hair was just hints, but it wasn't until Maleek beheld her face, or at least the remains of her face. His face paints the picture of her soft, smooth features and angelic smile, and Maleek can match her chipped daggers with the rips in Roxas' cloak. A stream of blood bubbles from her mouth.

Kairi.

She was the one who was sent to eliminate Prince Kiros. Maleek still remembers their first encounter. Her face is contorted to looking like she's in the middle of a death scream, her iron teeth out with its tips dipped in blood as well.

That scream, that horrible scream that iced his blood – that was Kairi.

But where is the prince . . . ?

Roxas doesn't even look at them, his hair covers whatever exposure of his face, his breathing still loud. Strands of his hair waft ad flick at his breath.

Maleek takes a step closer to Roxas, murmuring his name, "Roxas . . .?"

Vincent is at Maleek's side, carefully approaching the assassin. Maleek almost wants to run out of the room as Roxas slowly turns his head to face him. By the gods . . .

His eyes – by the gods his _eyes_! The ring of gold is a living flame inside the turquoise. And his pupils have shrunk to the size of pinpricks of blackness. Blood drips down the side of his face, gathering at his chin. He's still breathing heavy. His eyes are just . . . wild; as wild as the fire.

"Roxas," Maleek says carefully. Roxas' eyes flick to him quickly, and Maleek carefully takes a deep breath, feeling the air thicken with uneasiness. They're treating Roxas like a predator, and Maleek worries he's about to launch.

Maleek knew where Roxas is. He's in that dark place where nothing exists but an icy, endless rage that wipes away everything. Maleek gets dangerously close and extends out a hand. Roxas jerks his head towards the captain, causing everyone to flinch.

"Where is Kiros, Roxas?" Farkas asks softly. "Where is the prince?" As if Maleek's voice has broken the chain that was binding him the darkness, Roxas' eyes blink, and they blink again.

A loud bang comes from the back of the room. Heads turn and Roxas turns towards it, his blades still clutched in his hands as if he expects them to dissipate into dust if he lets go.

A large armoire is set along one wall and there's another bang that echoes from. Roxas' throat constricts. Vincent attempt to step over to it, but Maleek stops him, his eyes attentively on Roxas.

The door bursts open and the prince stumbles out of it, gripping the door to steady himself. He's still dressed in the attire he wore at the party, but he holds his head as he regains balance. He groans and shakes his head, and when he turns toward the crowd, he gasps and screams, covering his mouth with his hands in shock and horror.

"Wha – by the gods –!" Even with his dark skin, Maleek can tell he grows pale. Kiros almost looks as if he's going to vomit. His eyes gleam as he beholds his guards.

Roxas shifts on his feet, and suddenly his eyes are wide, his eyebrows furrowed. Prince Kiros' eyes go to Roxas, and his fear only grows.

There's a loud clang as Roxas drops his swords. He takes a step towards the prince, his feet sloshing in the puddle of blood. But the prince takes a step away from Roxas.

He's afraid . . .

Roxas begins to tremble. His hands start shaking as he takes another step towards the prince.

"Roxas . . ." the prince breathes.

At the sound of the prince's voice, Roxas drops to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. Suddenly, the room spins and Roxas finally feels his stomach clench and twist. Bracing himself on his hands, Roxas back arcs like a cat and he vomits all over the floor.

Spitting bile and saliva, Roxas looks to the prince and slowly shakes his head, but his wildness is still in his eyes. "I'm sorry." is all he can say. "I'm so sorry."

The prince's eyes flick from Roxas to Kairi's deformed body. Then a flicker of understanding swims across the deep brown and he kneels before the assassin. His hands take Roxas' face as he wipes his mouth, and the prince merely stares at him.

"I never wanted you to see –" Roxas whimpers. He would've finished but his voice gives out, and he only shakes his head. He's acting like he wasn't himself – which, possibly he wasn't.

The prince only pets the assassin's head. And then all together, Roxas collapses into the prince's arms, sobs wrecking his body. Tears of relief and joy that the prince is alive.

As Maleek and the guards file in and escort Roxas and Kiros out of the room, Maleek's stomach twists as he takes one last look at Kairi's broken body along the floor.

* * *

Roxas is still shaking even as he curls up next to the fire to the music room of Kadaj's manor. After he had seen Maleek's expression of sheer horror, after hearing Krios' voice and seeing he was alive, Roxas just – collapsed. The adrenaline that fueled his epic sprint for the manor just dropped and suddenly Roxas could feel everything.

He could feel the ache in his arms from the fighting; he could feel the blood that had covered him completely; he could feel the scratches and cuts and bruises inflicted upon him by Kairi, and he feels his heart racing as if it was about to jump out of his chest.

And when he saw Kiros, and the fear in the prince's eyes, Roxas almost shattered thinking he had lost another friend, but the prince merely held him while Roxas cried pathetically. His tears were just relief that had overwhelmed him since the beginning.

It's a miracle that Kiros is still bothering to speak with him. Apart from seeing the carnage that Roxas had left in the room, when Roxas had arrived, he practically scared the color off of Kiros only seconds before he grabbed the prince and forcibly shoved him into the armoire without much explanation. And that was just a minute before Kairi burst through Kiros' chamber doors.

After he had heard of the assassination attempt on Kiros' life, the world just slowed and blurred, and the next thing Roxas knew, he was sprinting through the streets and up to the manor. Thankfully he still had the sense to sneak around the side to avoid the guards, and followed Kiros' scent. He climbed up the freezing, slippery stones up to the balcony. Then he surprisingly ever so gently opened the prince's balcony doors and sipped inside.

He had scared Kiros as he was in the midst of removing his jewelry, and when he was about to ask what Roxas was doing there, one look of Roxas cold, dead eyes had rendered the prince frozen by fear. Roxas simply grabbed Kiros and ordered him to stay hidden and not make a sound. His voice was calm and sounded like gravel, the voice of a demon, not a young man. Roxas then simply sat in one of the chairs by the fire and waited.

And when Kairi showed up . . .

Roxas only greeted her with calm words, and a wicked smile. Kairi didn't expect to see him, and Roxas took full advantage of her surprise. He first flicked his wrist and a dagger immediately found its home in Kairi's eye, erupting a scream from the Faceless assassin. She had barely finished when Roxas launched himself. He pulled her dagger free from Kairi's eye, not even caring at the eyeball lodged hallway up the blade.

Roxas only had a few blades on his belt, but it was all he needed. After thoroughly hacking and slashing at Kairi, accompanied by blows of his fist and knees, when he got the Faceless assassin on the floor, he pinned her there with his daggers.

Roxas practically dissected the Faceless Assassin, cracking open her chest cavity like a nutshell, plucking her nails off like petals to a flower and stabbing daggers into her limbs like she was a living pincushion.

Roxas then proceeded to pry Kairi for answers, and every time she refused or cursed at Roxas, (which was a lot) Roxas then ripped off each and every one of her nails. He only got one hand done before the Faceless assassin confessed.

Now Roxas has a name and a location. And when he finds the soldier responsible for the attempt on Kiros' life, that person will be his to take apart. Slowly. He had barely begun the fun when he was doing away with Kairi.

But it wasn't enough. Roxas wasn't ready to let the bloodshed end. He wanted to rip out Kairi's throat with his teeth. And he would've had the she hadn't died so quickly.

Kairi was good, those god-damned daggers sure have a reach. Roxas looks to his now bandaged side, the area where Kairi swiped him. Even he didn't know the full extent of his injuries until the healers removed his clothes. Thankfully, that was only nick that Kairi had managed to inflict. Every other part of Roxas was untouched.

Only now does Roxas realize the torture that he had probably put Kiros through as well. The armoire he had stuffed the prince in was right there while Roxas performed his own execution. He had heard every scream, every curse and every begging word that Kairi unleashed to Roxas; only to have splashing blood, ripping flesh and gurgled screams in return.

What had terrified Roxas the most was that familiar feeling of when he had rampaged through the Gollund Mines. It was the exact same feeling. He could only see the assassin and the prince, he could only hear his pounding heart. Everything else was blurred and meshed together in smears of color. And when Maleek and the prince spoke to him, it all just – cleared away like fog.

He had failed. He never wanted anyone to see that darkest part of him. He was sure he had secured everything in place after what he had done to the miners and guards alike in Gollund Mines, but after hearing what was about to happen to Kiros . . .

The door shut loudly and Roxas jumps in his seat, his arms shaking. He only calms slightly when he sees it to be Kiros, carrying a blanket. Roxas doesn't look at him even as Kiros wraps the blanket around him like Roxas is a child. "There you are, Luminos."

Roxas relaxes slightly at the name. Kiros sits next to him, now dressed in cotton night clothes. Roxas doubts Kiros will be able to sleep tonight, and even if he does, Roxas might not.

After Maleek and a couple of guards led him out, they wanted to bring the two men to somewhere safe; why that's still in the manor, Roxas doesn't know why. But he was able to draw enough sense that he had mumbled the music room. Being surrounded by music, it gave Roxas a little bit of comfort.

No on protested, and Roxas and the prince held hands the whole walk there. Roxas didn't want to let go of him, he doesn't even think he wants to leave the manor again if threats continue on.

He hopes that Tifa heard, in detail, about what Roxas had done to Kairi. He hopes his mother hears and knows to stay the hell away from him and the prince.

Kairi was one of the last few members if not the only member of the Faceless. After Roxas nearly massacred the entirety of the Faceless Assassins, Kairi and her twin Namine were most likely the only ones to have made it out alive. And there's Sora too, but he wasn't properly trained as the others.

He had managed to wash the blood off, having spent over two hours in the tub, taking three baths just to ensure he washed every ounce of Kairi's blood off his skin. Then Kiros had brought him some fresh cotton clothes.

Roxas wraps the blanket tighter around himself, hugging his knees to his chest. The heat of fire doesn't seem to be reaching him at all. For a moment, Roxas darkly jokes about how his frozen heart is probably leeching away the heat. Perhaps he had spent so long without warmth that he now possesses a heart of ice.

Kiros shifts next to him, tucking his legs underneath himself. Roxas knew he wanted to talk about what happened, another reason why Roxas is even more upset. He never wanted anyone to see that side of him again. That part of it, it belonged in the dark. So it was right at home in Gollund Mines.

A hand touches his shoulder, and Roxas cringes again. "Luminos," the prince speaks.

Roxas almost wants to scream.

"Are you all right?" the prince asks in Galtea.

"I don't know." Roxas whimpers.

"I'm sorry to bring this up, but I wish to ask –" Roxas bites his lip hard enough to make it bleed. "– even if I didn't see much, to hear what you had done . . ."

"I'm sorry about that. I wasn't thinking." Roxas says. "I was bent on protecting you and, making her pay that I didn't even take into consideration –"

"Luminos," the prince's hand rubs Roxas' shoulder. Each time he says that name, Roxas wants to just cry and burrow into the prince's warmth. "I owe you my life. And that's all that I understand."

A sob escapes Roxas' lips. He doesn't even realize he's crying until he feels the warmth of his tears on his cheeks.

More sobs breach past his chapped lips. Roxas covers his mouth and begins to choke on air, huffing and breathing and gasping. He cocoons himself, bringing his legs up and his knees touching his chin. The darkness of his mind churns and it throws forth the images that he had forced himself to try and forget. Kiros remains silent. The fire crackles. In the quiet, people, places, words echo in his mind.

Then, the couch groans as the cushion compresses, and he feels Kiros' warm hands dig through the blanket to grasp Roxas'. Roxas looks up and through his tears he sees the prince's soft face.

The prince squeezes Roxas' hand. "You are my greatest friend, Luminos. And after what you did for me today, I am – jubilant to see just how far your love and care for me goes. I never would thought that Kingdom Heart's Assassin would ever safe my life."

Roxas chokes on a laugh, using his free hand to wipe his tears. He smiles slightly.

"You probably shouldn't be so grateful." Roxas says. "Not after what I made you hear, what you saw, and most of all – there is no way in hell I'm letting you out of my sight now."

Kiros smiles and chuckles. "I would enjoy your company, Luminos."

They would have to stay here until the Queen is healed, and Roxas heart sinks. It feels as if he's been avoiding the issue up until now, ignoring the fact by distraction. And now, sitting here with the prince and only the crackling of the fire, Roxas almost screams when he beholds the truth.

He failed to protect the Queen. The Queen is injured because of him. And the baby . . .

Roxas' heart nearly stops.

Gods – oh, _gods_ , Sephiroth will never forgive him if the child . . .

Roxas viscously shakes his head, his body starting to quiver as if he's been caught in a snowstorm. He can't accept that truth. Not yet.

Kiros manages to grab a couple more blanket and orders pillows and a tray of light food to be delivered. Kiros sets pillows all around Roxas, the assassin tiredly giggling. Bundled down in his cushioned nest, Roxas nestles down farther, wrapping himself around the pillow as he closes his eyes. Roxas tells Kiros talk about anything everything else until the prince falls asleep.

While the prince sleeps soundly now, curled into his covers with his braided hair fanning around his head, Roxas sits on the ledge of the bay window adjacent to the bed. Even when dressed in cotton night clothes, he blends in with even the slightest shadows. He spins a dagger slowly between his fingers, his sparkling eyes watching the prince and checking the surrounding sections of the room.

He's been this way for at least four hours, but it seems shortened with his beating heart. He shifted at every sound, he eyed down every shadow, and constantly kept opening and closing the windows to check for someone climbing the walls. He had to make it brief as he didn't want the chill reaching the prince.

As soon as the clock strikes four, he will retire to bed with the prince. Strictly for the reason being that Kiros' bed looks much more comfortable than the wooden seat by the window. Even the fire has given up for the night.

Roxas turns his head towards the window, disappointed at seeing how much of the Greylands has become exposed once more since the snow has melted.

In the silence of the room, Roxas has pretty much thought of every scenario that things could go from here, should the Queen not recover from the arrow. Roxas clenches the hilt of his dagger in his palm, gritting his teeth.

At least Kadaj was content enough with letting Rydia and The Thirteen stay in his home despite the circumstances. Roxas feels bad even for vomiting on the carpet, but at least his head stopped spinning immediately after. While he can't really say his night was ruined by the assassination attempt on Kiros, it certainly did dampen the fun.

No doubt Maleek will make him pay for not only getting drunk, but getting drunk on the job, and failing to protect the Queen. Even if he decides to go easy on Roxas, Sephiroth might not. Gods, to think about what punishment he'll give Roxas . . . the assassin shivers at the thought. His eyes almost water.

He can't take another whipping. Not anymore. He surely won't survive it. Kiros might be able to speak up for him, but it won't be enough. He protected Kiros, but failed to protect the Queen. And with no reports on her condition, Roxas' nerves are practically shot. He needs to know. But at the same time, he doesn't.

The clock tucked in the corner chimes, and Roxas jerks his head, ready to throw his dagger. The clock reads four in the morning.

Roxas sighs and shifts from the window. Roxas tucks away his weapons into the drawer of the nightstand, then carefully climbs into bed to make sure not to disturb Kiros. Quickly, the assassin is asleep.

It is over.


	55. Chapter 28 (Part Two)

Being back in Valendia was both reliving and nerve-wrecking. The next morning after the assassination attempt on Kiros, and after Kadaj did damage control for the attack on the Queen, she, the prince and The Thirteen arose early before dawn to head back to the Royal City. Dressed in borrowed clothes from Kadaj, Roxas feels bad he didn't even get to say goodbye. Though perhaps it was for the best.

Seymour shortened their trip dramatically once again after he opened a portal so that the group could spare crossing the river that divides the Royal City from the Greylands. Roxas decided to ride with Kiros despite his need to see the Queen. But as they were filing out of the manor into the carriages, one look at the Queen with blood permeating a fresh set of bandages made his stomach sink and he started to shake.

Maleek was escorting her, and Roxas' heart skipped a beat when the captain didn't even spare Roxas a glance. The rest of the Thirteen members shift and filed around the carriages as Seymour opened the portal with the Darkmarks and one simple step through, and they are on the main road towards the Royal City.

Roxas, listening with his immortal ears, had heard that Kadaj delivered the news to Sephiroth already. Oh he feels like he's going to vomit. To picture Sephiroth waiting for them when they arrive . . .

Roxas hasn't felt this kind of fear and anxiety in _years_. Not even in Gollund Mines did he allow himself to feel fear, even as they whipped him into unconsciousness. His knee was bouncing the entire ride after they stepped through the portal, Kiros sitting across from him set a hand on said knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Roxas simply shook his head and looked out the window.

Now they are pulling up to the black gates that lead to the gravel path snaking up towards the front doors of the marble castle. Already Roxas can tell the guards are more tense and fidgety than normal. They work quick getting the carriages through the gates and readying to help the Queen out.

Peeking out the window, Roxas watches as Maleek and the Queen step out of the carriages, she still being supported by Maleek. No more than three seconds later does Sephiroth come bursting out, past the marble columns obstructing Roxas' view.

He grabs Queen Rydia by the shoulders, his beautiful face having red-rimmed eyes and his skin paler than normal. He looks to the Queen, taking her chin, and then when their eyes meet, Roxas watches the Queen's shoulders shudder and she collapses into Sephiroth's arms in tears. He holds her tight, the two of them crying together before he picks her up with an arm under her knee and carries her inside.

Maleeks stands there, watching after them, his hands fisted at his sides. He then turns towards the carriage, Vincent and Kain standing there, his lips say something and the two nod. Then the members begin to file inside.

Maleek's eyes suddenly flick straight to Roxas' as if he knew Roxas was watching. The assassin jumps and ducks down into the opposite end of the seat. Kiros simply sits with his hands in his lap, his chin high and demeanor cool as their carriages begins to move to the front door. Maleek is still standing there, his back to the doors. Roxas feels his breathing become uneven.

Kiros takes his hand and Roxas looks to the prince, whose warm eyes blink and he slowly nods his head. No amount of words could express the relief and gratefulness Roxas feels as the prince guides them both out of the carriage as Cecil opens the doors.

Kiros keeps his chin high as he steps down, not accepting Cecil's hand to help him out, but sparring a thankful nod. Roxas keeps his head down, cowering within the hood of his cloak as the prince leads them inside. They pass Maleek, and Roxas hears him say, "You should go see her, when you can."

The words stop Kiros for a moment, and Roxas only glimpses up at Maleek from under his hood, and the captain's face is still stern. Roxas looks away ashamed and takes a step forward, Kiros resuming their walk.

Once they're inside, Roxas continues to follow Kiros, accompanied by two of the palace guards. Kiros' expression becomes heavy at the remembrance of his dead body guards, of which they had to quickly bury late in the night of the assassination attempt. There' wouldn't have been any other time or way, but at least they got a proper burial. Kiros fiddles with the rings of his fingers.

When Roxas leads him to his chambers in the castle, the two share a long, tight hug until the prince retires to his chambers. Roxas looks to the guards and says, "Watch over him."

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Roxas walks his way back to his own rooms, his pace quickened as he doesn't want to run into Maleek or Sephiroth along the way.

Now he has no distractions other than to sleep, but he feels so wired right now it's impossible. If only Seymour could fast forward the time of the day with the magic he possess.

The Queen got attacked because of him. He was supposed to protect her. Now what's going to happen? He's going to be punished, that's for sure. But to what extent? Each time the thought comes, Roxas starts to shake so uncontrollably.

The most that he fears is of them sending him back to Gollund Mines. It seems a little extreme, but he let the Queen get hurt, things could've gone horribly wrong if she didn't survive. And the child . . . Roxas' hands shake so much he tucks them into his underarms.

He reaches his chambers and Roxas slips inside without even sparing a glance to the guards. He steps out of his boots, kicking them aside next to the door and when he reaches the top of his stairs, he stops at the center of the rotunda, he turns and looks out to his balcony – watching the bridge stretch across the massive extent of courtyards.

Perhaps it'd be better if he wasn't in the castle at all today. It almost feels, undeserving. And the weather is decent today . . . Yes. He probably should spent the day outside. It doesn't feel right to be here in this castle after that level of failure.

Grabbing his black riding boots, he closes his bedroom door behind him. Quietly he hurries down the steps of the cavernous entryway and out to the stables.

Pulling open the doors, all of the horses lined in their pens along the walls turn their heads to him. Roxas smiles, wanting to take all of them out today, perhaps in the afternoon. But he had his eyes set on the one horse that has been his faithful non-human friend since he started living in the marble castle. Tallie.

Grabbing the bridle hanging just outside the horse's pen, Roxas pulls open the door and smiles as the horse lifts its head and huffs.

The horse was black as pitch, with dark eyes that bored into his own. The proud mare is a horse of Valendia hand-picked from The Orient themselves. Legend claimed that the elves had made them from the four winds—spirit from the north, strength from the south, speed from the east, and wisdom from the west, all rolled into the slender-snouted, high-tailed, lovely creature that stood before him.

The horse hops slightly in excitement as she beholds Roxas. The assassin loops the bridle around the horse's head, securing the throat lash and letting Tallie adjust the bit into her mouth. Roxas giggles as the horse's tongue flaps as she tries fit the bit right. "You silly girl." Roxas smiles as he pets the horse's muzzle.

Leading the horse out of the pen, they walk down to the opposite end he came in, and preps Tallie's saddle. Setting the blanket down before the saddle, he adjusts the straps and buckle, yelping slightly when Tallie's tail whips at him, smacking his shoulder. He turns to the horse who is staring right at her. "Too tight?" he asks.

The horse huffs. Rolling his eyes, Roxas finishes setting up the saddle, pinching the horse's buttock. The horse huffs, another tail whip. Then hooking his foot into the stirrup, Roxas swings himself onto the horse's back and snaps the reins.

Taking the back gates of the castle's backyard, Roxas and Tallie leaps over the black iron bars and they're on a small trail leading to the main road. Trotting through the cobblestone street, it was relatively clear as most of the carriages don't roll out until nine. So he has the whole road to himself, but he forces himself to stay sitting tall, the anticipation building.

Once they reach the front gates of the stone walls, he passes by the guards with a simple nod, they barely return it. Taking the couple steps over the threshold, Roxas' hands snap and Tallie takes off across the bridge like a bolt of lightning.

Flexing the muscles behind his eyes, Roxas blinks as his third eyelid comes down across his eyes. The world becomes a blue of green, red and orange. The breeze of the afternoon air makes Roxas' skin chill, feeling the vibrations of Tallie's muscles as they thunder through the woods. Overhead the clouds race by him, blurs of fluffiness; the wind whistling through his hair and filling his lungs.

He lets Tallie navigate them through their self-made trail, the two of them knowing this forest like the back of their hand and hoof. The two became acquainted while Roxas was out roaming the castle one night trying to memorize its interior for exits and passageways. Tallie was up late herself, pacing back and forth around her pen.

The stableboy working the late hours said she was a wild one; and he wasn't wrong. Roxas took one look at the horse, saw the spark in her eye and just knew, there was something they had in common. What it was, he didn't know. And he still doesn't.

Roxas practically dedicated his life to Tallie, rising early to clean her stables and brush her coat, spend the afternoons riding through the woods outside the kingdom's walls, and just nights sitting with her in the pen, telling his stories to a nonjudgmental creature.

Roxas always thought horses were better than people. They're good listeners.

They break through the trees and a clearing explodes in colors of green and brown. Over in the distance, dominating the horizon, Roxas can see the grasslands reining tall. Roxas weaves and turns within the field, fast as a stream down a mountainside. Back under the shelter of skeletal boughs, a large oak blocks the path ahead, foliage and moss growing over it to try and make it one with the forest once again.

They leap over it like it's nothing but a small river bend, but within the moments of elevation, Roxas closes his eyes, feeling weightless for those few seconds. They hit the earth again, and Tallie keeps running.

"Faster, Tallie," he whispers in the horse's ear. As if the mare understood him, she takes off, Roxas' legs gripping the mare's side. He feels the horse gruff, a neigh of excitement reverberating through his bones.

They make as far out as the foothills to the mountains, their snowy peaks scraping against the sky. As the wind kicks up, whippings his hair this way and that, Roxas opens his arms wide and howls with joy.

Freedom. This is what freedom felt like. No daggers, no blood, no secrets. Just a wild boy and his horse, bounding through the plains without a care in the world.

Roxas and Tallie spent the morning together, stopping in a field of tall grass speckled with dandelions when Tallie became too winded to run. Roxas removed the saddle and bridle, allowing Tallie to drink form a nearby river.

As Roxas bathes in the sun, feeling the tall grass ripple around him, he sways a small stalk of grass between his teeth with his tongue, ticking like the dial of a metronome. Tallie is rolling in the grass, huffing and shaking her head. Roxas often had wonders if the mare was part dog.

The sun has risen over Valendia, the sky becoming darker as the clouds keep drifting across the sky until they disappear from sight.

Hopefully Maleek won't come looking for him. Though, Roxas doesn't expect him too. The disappointment that was on his face, Roxas hasn't seen that since he was a child. Roxas still takes into consideration the words that he exchanged; to go and see the Queen. It'll be hard, but Roxas knew Maleek was right. He should.

Roxas swats away a pesky gnat that keeps tickling his forehead. He probably looked psychotic with strands of his hair practically sticking out of his head like porcupine quills. He groans, throwing his arm over his eyes.

It's getting a little warmer, the winter chill slowly dissipating, and his black tunic is absorbing the sun's heat. He's going to have to go back eventually, right around noon actually. That's most likely when the Queen is going to be left alone. Her time usually dedicated to her court will be reduced to spending time in her chambers.

Sighing to himself, Roxas spreads his arms and legs wide, mimicking a child making an angel in the snow. Tallie walks over to him, her mane well ruffled from rolling on the ground. The mare's soft muzzle tickles his cheek and Roxas giggles. As he pushes himself to his feet, he dusts himself off and pulls dry leaves out of Tallie's mane and tail.

Riding back to the Royal City, it wasn't as exciting, but it was enough to keep Roxas in a good mood as he heads back into the streets, uncaring of how wild his hair must look. He steers Tallie back towards the gates that divide the castle's property, and rounds back to the stables.

Roxas hops off, patting Tallie's croup. "Gods, I'm starving. You hungry too, Tallie?" The mare's tail whips up, smacking his in the face. Roxas spits and wipes his mouth. "Carrots it is. Got it." Running his fingers over his tongue, he removes a strand of Tallie's tail hair, his lips contorting into disgust.

Roxas sneaks his way in through the servants' doors and up towards the training room. He still needed to keep himself distracted. He hasn't once given thought to those cryptic words both his father and Vanitas had spoken to him. And now certainly wasn't the time with his concern of the Queen.

So Roxas happily wastes away the rest of the day training until his arms and legs are ready to fall off. Still, that pain is slim compared to the disturbance he feels when Maleek doesn't come looking for him.

Slugging his way back to his rooms, Roxas must've look as exhausted as he feels as his guards almost shift to help him inside. Once alone, somehow he finds the energy to wash and bathe himself, hang up Oathkeeper and Oblivion on their weapon racks and crawl into bed, burrowing into the warmth of the down comforter.

All too quickly, he finds sleep. But even his dreams can't help him escape his thoughts.

In his dreams, he stands in a field of grass and stones. In front of him is a large crevice, deep, deep, deep below he hears the roar of water. He can't move, but he doesn't feel scared. There's a warm breeze that tickles his hair and huffing draws his attention towards an outcropping of rocks. He looks to find deer, ranging from dark grey to black gathering on the rocks.

He still doesn't feel threatened, even when he knew his body felt heavy enough to signify he had an array of weapons. Except his heart triples in speed when he realizes he's not in his armor of the Thirteen, but the Guild armor from his dark days in the Guilds of Twilight Town.

Something draws his head towards the ravine towards a forest region where the trees had leaves and blooms, but their colors were dark. The sky was dark, only the full moon haloed in ivory was their only light.

A shadow moves out from the shelter of the trees, its light footsteps signifying its weight.

It steps into one of the rays of moonlight, and Roxas' throat hitches.

A large fire with its flames stretching up to the height of a normal person.

As if the moon's rays are burning away its embers and flames, Roxas hears a faint hissing and watches as the fire retreats back to reveal dainty hands as pale as alabaster, small scars etching across the front and back. The fire continues to ebb away and soon, a familiar blond hair is revealed, and then a soft chin, angelic eyes, a warm heavenly glow pulsates around him.

Ventus.

Roxas almost squeals, his eyes watering as Ventus beholds what Roxas was. His heart hurts at their extreme difference. Roxas is dressed in his Guild uniform and armor, a black cloak enveloping is form, and Ventus is in a long dress. It looks feminine, but it suits him to a degree that Roxas can't explain.

It's a gold and ivory silk gown with long belled arms, gold trimmings and beading. A gold belt encircles his waist, a single strap falling down his front. He has his hands folded in front of him, a gentle smile on his lips.

Roxas wants to cover himself, retreat into the shadows, but he felt doing that would be a horrible mistake.

Ventus stares at Roxas, his eyes burning through the assassin as he stood on the opposite side of the ravine. Roxas still can't move, and despite the distance, he feels Ventus' warmth as if he was standing a mere foot away from him.

A horrible, torturous distance standing between them just like when they opened that portal to the other world. A boundary that Roxas can't cross.

Roxas' eyes sting, and his nose sniffles.

Roxas tries to say Ventus' name, but his throat seems too tight. Stuffed with words he wants to burst to him, but feeling as if there is so little time.

The angelic boy simply smiles at Roxas; a gentle smile that Roxas only ever saw while Ventus was in his life. Only Ventus smiled at him like that. It was out of the love of friendship, nothing more. Roxas never knew how much he missed just friendship. He's had enemies, he's even had lovers. But he's forgotten what it was like to have a _friend_. Sora is there, but as Roxas realized many times before, nothing can fill the void left by Ventus. That was _for_ Ventus alone.

Ventus continues to smile at Roxas – silent, contempt, accepting. Roxas could hear whispers, but didn't pay attention to what they said.

Then, without a word, Ventus turns way from him and heads back into the woods. Leaving Roxas alone at the edge of the ravine.

* * *

Roxas awakens and instantly feels his cheeks tight and raw with dried tears. His body was sweaty and he was short of breath but all he did was breath through his nose. In and out, in and out.

He wipes his tears and sits up and slowly gets out of bed. He takes a few steps then pauses in the center of the room, staring into the dark. On this day does he distrust and is weary of the shadows.

A cold breeze tickles his left arm only and his entire body ripples with goose bumps. His heart is still beating hard and he feels clammy.

He remains there for a moment, staring into the blackness without end.

For some reason one of his cheeks is warmer than the other, almost as if a hand had been caressing it.

As if he could forget the day when what he had loved had been wretched away from him, and he'd lost the only person that had ever truly loved him.

He doesn't to touch that grief again. He barely wanted to acknowledge its existence. For within that grief also lies that monster that had possessed her the night he had stormed through the mines, and when he had attacked and dismembered Kairi. It is cold, it is deadly, and it is dangerous.

Roxas leaves the castle well before dawn.

* * *

Maleek makes his way up the steps towards Roxas' chambers. Dressed in his usual armor for jogging, his only new addition is a thick leather cloak to help with the chilled wind today. He was supposed to meet up with Roxas for their run at dawn, but it didn't surprise him when Roxas didn't show up. He knew Roxas must've been a little shy and ashamed of himself for not protecting the Queen, probably even preparing himself for a verbal thrashing, which Maleek did have prepared, but he knew when and where to do it.

He nods to the guards posted outside the doors and enters in. after his anger had subdued, Maleek soon sorted through the facts and reasons, coming to the conclusion that it really wasn't Roxas' fault. He wasn't on guard duty that night. Maleek and the Thirteen were. And granted Roxas was prepared, but he was just so caught up in being young and having fun like a normal boy –

The captain sighs. The one time Roxas tries to be normal, to try and have fun, and things go awry. It disturbs Maleek that he actually wasn't surprised that something like that happened to Roxas. It's saddening, and if Roxas refuses to talk with him, Maleek has other ways of showing the assassin that he forgave him.

Maleek can't help the small smile as his excitement grows on spending the day with Roxas.

His smile fades when he reaches the assassin's chambers and finds it quiet. He first goes over to the library and finds only Kiros sitting at the small table. He imagined to see Roxas sprawled along the couch reading a book, but it's only the prince with a small plate of fruit in front of him.

Maleek bows. The prince nods his head, and says, "I'm afraid he's not here."

All other doors of chamber are open wide enough that Maleek can see and hear that no one else is in the rooms, the bed neatly made signaling Roxas has been awake for a while. Besides, not like the prince would lie to him. "Where is he?"

Kiros' eyes soften, and he picks up a note that was lying among his table. "He has taken today off." The prince says, reading form the note before setting it down. "If I were to guess, I'd say that he is as far away from the city as he can get in half a day's ride."

"Why?"

Kiros smiles sadly. "Because today is the two year anniversary of Ventus' death."

Maleek's breath catches. He remembers Roxas mentioning how he had killed his one and only friend by order of his father. It was either he killed him, or his father would torture him. He didn't tell Maleek anything else, and Maleek didn't dare to ask. Maleek can't imagine having to kill his best friend. Let alone after that said friend forgave him before the sin was even committed. That kind of thing doesn't happen.

Maleek's stomach clenches. What kind of horrors had he witnessed that day?

He runs a hand through his hair. "He told you about Ventus?" Maybe it holds a shred more information – anything for him to better understand what sort of man he'd be facing when he returns, what sort of memories he'd have to contend with.

"Not in much detail," Kiros says. "They were vague descriptions. Possibly the same that he has told you. I didn't dare ask more." Kiros watches Maleek with a calculated stillness, a switch to the defensive that he recognized.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

Kiros returns to the book in front of him. It looks like an English book set with Valendia's alphabet. "He said he won't be back until after nightfall. If I were to guess, I'd say he didn't want to spend one moment of daylight in this city. In times such as this, solitude is best."

Maleek almost needs to sit down. He can't imagined how hard it was for Roxas to kill his own best friend. He could tell Ventus had a large impact on Roxas' life, enough to make him look so broken and damaged beyond repair. Sometimes Maleek thought that it wasn't Axel he was competing with, nor was it Vanitas. But really, it was Ventus he was competing with for Roxas' attention.

But soon, Maleek learned that he would never compare to Ventus. There was just something about the boy that Roxas had admired and adored so much, probably something even he can't explain. Maybe he's not meant to.

Maleek remembers Roxas snapping at his mother when she provoked him with Ventus' name. Built up anger and grief and sorrow, emanating as a deadly monster, feral and wild. Ventus' name holds quite a weight with Roxas, it carries a heavy weight while also having a large sensitivity.

Maleek can tell it's something that Roxas holds close to his heart. He'll need to be ready for when Roxas comes back. He'll probably not want him there, but Maleek just wants to try. He needs to be there for Roxas. That's probably what he wants more than anything. A reminder that he is not alone.

Maleek thanks the prince with a bow and leaves the castle. He takes the run on his own, working his muscles until they ache deep into their marrow.

* * *

In the misty foothills next to the Royal City, Roxas strode between the trees of the small forest, barely more than a sliver of darkness winding through the woods. The sun is drowning beneath the weight of a purple twilight as he weaves, walk twenty yards into the middle of them, their skinny trunks and thin, graceful branches reaching for the heavens as if hoping to scape against the stars, and find what he's looking for.

He's been walking since before dawn, Tallie following him as she would. Today, even the forest seems silent.

Good. Today is not a day for the sounds of life. Today is for the hollow wind rustling branches, for the rushing of the gleaming cerulean river, for the crunch of grass and dried leaves under his boots. The complete absence of life.

There's a gathering of trees with bushes based all around its trunk. Bushing the branches aside reveals the inside to be hollow and big enough for Roxas to crawl inside, wrap his cloak around himself, and lie. He lies on his side, curling into himself like a caterpillar. Tallie followed as close as she could, delicately touching the side of Roxas' head with her snout.

He reaches up and scratches at Tallie's chin. He feels her turn away, and then the crunching of leaves as the horse sits down.

Looking out into the still forest, Roxas remembers the day he lost everything.

* * *

" _Sedative." His stern voice then commands._

 _A needle pokes at Roxas' arm and almost in an instant he stops fighting. But now he simply wails in a horrible, dying-animal way until his voice gives out. Roxas' heart begins to slow down. He sobs with relief. For seconds all he can do is sob with relief. That was not fear. That was something else; an emotion that shouldn't exist._

 _The drug causes sedation, not sleep, so Roxas is trapped in fuzzy, dully aching misery for what seems like always. His throat burns like coals of a hearth. From screaming no doubt._

 _The hallucinogens have wrecked his body beyond belief. Every sound is torture, every twitch, every flick of a muscle sends searing flames of agony through his veins._

" _Roxas."_

 _Roxas blinks fast so he can see him through his tears. His face, along with Ventus, express horror and heartbreak but at least they're not getting devoured by mermaids or assaulted by filthy men; they're all right. Roxas' head pounds. When the men's hands finally release him, he doesn't move._

 _His muscles ache, probably from being clenched for however long Cloud left him with that serum pulsing through him. Roxas lifts his hand, feeling heavier than normal and rubs his head. He feels . . . light. Like his head was inflated, and the slightest tilt made him feels disoriented. When his hand falls away from his face, a few specks fall with it. It falls heavy on the wood._

 _No one touches Roxas, no one advances towards him. The room spins as Roxas lifts his head, but he manages to put his legs over the edge of the table and stand. He feels slight vertigo as he delicately sways._

" _Roxas." Cloud's voice says._

 _Roxas slowly turns to face his father. And the anger from the hallucination blazes fresh and new. Cloud doesn't say anything, and Roxas would have if it weren't for a gurgling in his stomach. Roxas ends up burping, but along with it comes bile and yellowed bits of the dinner he ate hours ago._

 _Roxas haunches over, several men averting their eyes as he vomits onto the carpet, dropping to his knees without meaning to. The bile burns his throat like an acid, and a drop of it makes its way into his nose. As he tries to turn, he winds up banging his head against the side of the desk, but it feels good. He does it again before he grips a shaking hand onto the desk, hoisting himself up. His foot nearly slips in his own vomit as he stands. He leans one hip against the edge of the table and sloppily wipes his mouth with his sleeve, spitting a dribble of drool off to the side._

 _Before he can react, another needle injects into his neck and Roxas' arms floppily flail at nothing by the time the needle is removed. He haunches over the table, ready for another entourage of horrific hallucinations, but nothing happens. In fact, he slowly starts to feel better._

 _The dizziness in his head deflates and he can feel his stomach calming as it was preparing to gurgle again. As his pain begins to decrease, he forces himself to take a breath. He feels the magic of the serum work all along his body. The pain in his muscles reduces to a mere throb, his urge to vomit vanishes._

 _Roxas blinks and his vision becomes clearer and less rocky. "Roxas." Cloud repeats. Roxas whirls around and gives him a look of absolute loathing. "Kill him. Now. Or you will suffer once more."_

 _Something desperate and dark awakens within Roxas, biting through his stomach like bile. He wants to fling the sword across the room and stick it in his father' throat. Roxas gives a vicious snarl, a soft, deep growl as he reaches for the short sword._

" _Roxas." Roxas looks over to Ventus, of whom has his head down. Roxas hurries over, keeping the grip on the sword. His movements aren't as smooth, but it doesn't matter as he collapses in front of Ventus. Roxas goes and gently cups Ventus' face like he does. Ventus lifts his head and as impossible as it seems, the boy is smiling._

" _Ventus -"_

" _It's okay, Roxas." Ventus' voice quivers and his eyes fill with tears. They spill over instantaneously. "I forgive you."_

 _Roxas lets go of his face and takes a few paces back on his knees._

" _I forgive you." Ventus repeats, a strangled sob escaping his lips, as if trying to look brave. His tears stream along his cheeks, gathering at his chin and dripping onto the carpet._

 _Roxas gives an inconspicuous shake of his head. Ventus gives a weak, breathy laugh._

" _I forgive you, Roxas. Now do it."_

 _No lie. Roxas can't believe it. Forgiveness before the sin was even committed, unasked, undeserved. As he holds the short sword, Roxas feels like dying. To kill his friend as a sacrificial lamb for his father, all so that Roxas wouldn't have to undergo another round of tortuous delusions. All to save his own life. No, it needs to be the other way around. Roxas should be enduring all the horrific mirages in the world if it means sparing Ventus' life. But what will happen to Axel and the others?_

 _Roxas takes two careful steps towards Ventus, now standing over him. Tears are in his eyes. His lips quiver and stretch into a sorrowful frown. "Thank you for being my friend." he whimpers quietly. His tears spill over._

 _Roxas swings the blade._

 _With a sickening, wet thunk, the sword plunges deep into Ventus' chest, burying itself to the hilt. Blood pours from the wound, dark crimson. It slides along the silver in a single, sinuous streak as Ventus slowly sags to the floor. Red spit oozes from between his lips. The metallic tang of the blood swamps Roxas' senses. He tries to hold his breath, but that just forces him to swallow blood-tainted air until he feels like screaming._

 _Roxas feels as if the whole world is collapsing around him, crushing his heart._

" _Ventus!" Axel screams; his voice feels like acid ripping through his throat._

 _Ventus' eyes roll up in their sockets, dull white orbs. Roxas yanks the blade out, warmth pooling into his palm; the blade coming free with a damp, sucking sound, dripping onto the carpet in a small stain. Blood trickles out of Ventus' nose and mouth._

" _Ventus!"_

 _Ventus' eyes close, and his body goes limp. One last breath wheezes from his mouth._

 _Roars of sobs and screams fill from the crewmen and the cloaked figures, like ghosts glide over to the members and hold them all back. Roxas registers Axel's voice most of all, calling him terrible, terrible things past his tear-filled eyes and reddened cheeks. While most of the men rise for the first time, remembering they have legs, Demyx and a couple others stay knelt, their faces red and noses congested._

" _Well done, Roxas." Cloud says._

" _Shut up." Roxas whispers back. Cloud didn't hear it, or if he did, he didn't do anything about it._

" _I'll clean up the body." A man of the Wolf Guild offers._

" _No," says Cloud as he takes the sword from Roxas' hand. "My son made the mess. Let him clean it up."_

 _Roxas stares vacantly ahead as Axel and the crewmen are dragged out of the room, still screaming and still roaring with anger. He can see his father from the corner of his eye. Cloud reaches out and touches Roxas' face with his fingers._

" _It's for the best, Roxas. Someday, you will understand. And you'll thank me." He says to him._

 _Something happens inside Roxas. It starts deep down in his chest, a seed of anger. Of revenge. Of hate. Something dark and terrible. And then it explodes, bursting through his lungs through his neck, through his arms and legs. Through his mind. Roxas doesn't even bother to turn his head. He feels his father kiss just above his ear, and Roxas feels like he's going to get sick again._

 _All the men clear out of the room, leaving Roxas alone. He remains standing before the body. He feels dumb struck, and is on the verge of screaming._

 _Heavy footsteps enter the room, and approach Roxas. Despite his hairs standing on end, Roxas doesn't move. Lexaeus stands next to him, only looking at Roxas, not even glancing at the body. In a way, Roxas doesn't want him to look, or to even see it._

" _I failed." He says, his voice oddly distant. Lexaeus is about to reply, when Roxas turns and moves in a stiff, methodical manner. Lexaeus watches him, all while having a forlorn expression on his face. Roxas opens a closet door filled with spare sheets._

 _Lexaeus takes a few long steps back as Roxas comes back and kneels before the body, mopping up the blood. He keeps his eyes straight down, afraid of seeing the body the sight of it is so . . . wrong._

 _Lexaeus rounds to stand behind Roxas and places a hand on his shoulder. Roxas flinches, jerking his arms and ruffling the sheet. "Listen," he kneels down. "I've checked the entire hall. They are all gone."_

 _With that he gets up and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him._

 _In the deafening silence, sadness consumes Roxas. He grabs Ventus' lifeless body and pulls him into his arms, ignoring the blood, ignoring the frozen look of death on the boy's face._

" _I'm sorry." Roxas weeps. "I'm sorry!"_

 _Even as he speaks, Roxas realizes his voice is laced with something wrong. Almost insanity. He hugs Ventus close to his chest, squeezing him as tightly as possible, as if that could somehow bring him back, or show thanks for saving his life._

 _For being his friend when no one else would._

 _Roxas cries. Weeps like he's never wept before. His great, racking sobs echo through the chamber like the sounds of tortured pain._

* * *

Maleek flips the pages of the book he had been reading while he waited for Roxas to come home. He had finished _A Thief of Virtue_ and helped himself to one of the many books in Roxas' personal library. He was halfway through before he stood from his seat as the door quietly opened. He marks the book and sets it aside on an end table.

The outside hall was fairly dark, a majority of the servants having gone to bed. He had heard the clock chime midnight some time ago, but he knew it wasn't exhaustion weighing down Roxas' shoulders as he slipped into his chamber. His eyes are purple beneath, his face wan, lips colorless.

Roxas glances once at Maleek, her turquoise-and-gold eyes weary and haunted. Maleek's heart feels heavy at their bleakness.

Roxas begins unfastening his cloak as he walks past Maleek into the dressing room. Wordlessly, Maleek follows him, if only because Roxas hadn't had a hint of warning or reproach in his expression.

Roxas removes his coat and then his boots, leaving them wherever he happened to discard them. Maleek didn't look away as Roxas unbuttoned his tunic and walked into the dressing room. A moment later, he comes back out, wearing a set of night clothes

Maleek swallows hard. He should have given Roxas privacy instead of waiting here. If Roxas had wanted him to be here, he would have written _him_ a note.

Roxas stops before the dim fireplace and used the poker to stir the coals before tossing another two logs on. He stares down at the flames. His back was still to Maleek when he speaks.

"While I appreciate you waiting, it was a waste. There's nothing that can be said, or done."

"Then let me keep you company."

"I don't want company." Roxas says with a small shake of his head, as if having Maleek here is more painful than being alone. But Roxas' voices hitches, as if he wanted to stop himself.

"Want and need are different things." Kiros, probably, should have been here—another child who could understand the weight of such a loss. But he didn't want the prince to be the one Roxas turned to. He can't turn away from Roxas — not today.

"So you're just going to stay here all night?" Roxas flicks his eyes to the couch between them.

Maleek's throat tightens. Does he not even want to share a bed tonight? "I've slept in worse places."

"I think my experience with 'worse places' is a lot more horrible than yours." Again, that twisting in Maleek's gut.

Roxas stares at him, and then he rises. He crosses from the fireplace to where Maleek stands, stopping a hand's breadth away and staring up at him. Some of the color has returned to his face.

Maleek reaches for Roxas, a hand slipping around the assassin's waist and the other twining itself through his hair as Maleek holds him tightly. His heart thunders through him so hard he knew Roxas could feel it. After a second, Roxas' arms came up around him, his fingers digging into Maleek's back in a way that made him realize how close they stood.

He shoved that feeling down, even as the silken texture of her hair against his fingers made him want to bury his face in it, and the smell of Roxas, laced with mist and night, has him grazing his nose against Roxas' neck.

There are other kinds of comfort that he can give Roxas than mere words, and if he needed that kind of distraction . . . He shoved down that thought, too, swallowing it until he nearly chokes on it.

Roxas' fingers are moving down his back, still digging into his muscles with a fierce kind of possession. If he keeps touching him like that, Maleek's control was going to slip completely.

And then he feels Roxas shudder. The assassin takes a deep breath, and when he exhales, it's shaky. Slight warmth beings to tickle his chest.

Maleek rests his cheek against Roxas' hair, stroking the assassin's back as he begin to cry.

It starts off quiet, a couple of chirps here and there, but soon it rises in volume, to the point where Roxas literally buries his face in Maleek's tunic as he wails in agony and sorrow.

His knees begin to buckle from exhaustion, and Maleek is already there, tucking one arm under Roxas' knees, and carrying him over to the couch. He sits Roxas in his lap, silently content as Roxas nestles into the crook of his neck, his ugly sobs making his cheeks and eyes red.

"It's all my fault." He hears Roxas whimper. It's no loud than a whisper. Maleek simply coos him, knowing words are dangerous when Roxas is in this vulnerable of a state.

Wrapping hi arms around the assassin like a cocoon, Maleek simply pets Roxas' head, hissing his forehead every thirty seconds. Maleek finds himself gauging the distance between their lips, his eyes flicking between Roxas' mouth and his eyes, the hand he had entwined in Roxas' hair stilling.

Desire roars through Maleek, burning down every common sense reason he's convinced himself he had to maintain. He cups one side of Roxas' face and leans down and kisses Roxas' lips. They're still cold that it shivers him, but he feels sudden warmth flood him as he feels Roxas kiss him back.

Roxas' hands travel back up until he's holding Maleek's shoulders, inhaling heavily as they press together. Yet it still feels as if there's too much room between them. Letting his restraints loosen, Maleek runs his hands down Roxas' sides until he cups the assassin's bum.

But then his heart sinks when he feels Roxas remove his hands. He doesn't say anything, and the beating of Maleek's heart intensifies when he sees Roxas' eyes looking a little deader than before.

"Not tonight." He whispers.

"I'm sorry." Maleek says with a slight nod of his head.

"But please," Roxas says taking his hand. "You are more than welcome to stay." Roxas wipes his eyes, a couple more rouge sobs escaping his lips. Maleek reaches over to the end table and retrieves a tissue. Roxas accepts it, getting up from the couch and walking over to the trashcan as he blows his nose. Another sob rattles his shoulders.

Whoever this boy was, he was something special to Roxas. In more ways than Maleek is allowed to know. The love Roxas had for him – it's deeper than that of their own; it extends farther than the normality of friendship. They were like two lost souls that had at last found one another.

Maleek knew then, that no amount of love Roxas has for him, or for any other living thing, would ever compare to that of what he had for Ventus.

"Just let me know where you want me."

A ghost of a smile on Roxas' lips. He walks over to Maleek, extending out his hand. The captain takes it, and Roxas guides him over to the bed. At least Maleek was wearing night clothes already.

Maleek follows Roxas around his side of the bed, pulling back the sheets for the assassin. Roxas nestles down, feeling like a child when Maleek tucks him in and rounds the bed to his own side. He gets in between the sheets and wraps one protective arm around Roxas.

Roxas takes in Maleek's tan skin and muscled chest, the slender scars that pepper his torso. His heart is beating so fast he can hardly breathe. His hand roams across Maleek's abs, exhaling in admiration. While a part of Roxas does mean for things to move a certain way, he also just wants to feel Maleek.

Feel his power, and his muscles, and his skin. Feel that he is real and he is here.

Maleek brushes a large hand down Roxas hair, and Roxas almost purrs.

Roxas smiles into the pillow and leans into Maleek's touch some more, even going so far to put a hand on his broad chest, savoring the steady, assured heartbeat pounding beneath.

"Thank you, Maleek." Roxas murmurs, his own words slurring as he yawns.

With his hand intertwined to Maleek's, clasped to his chest, the assassin feels something molten course through him, pouring over the large cracks and fractures widely gaping and open. Not to hurt or to mar – but to weld. To forge. But at the same time, it melts down the remains of his walls.

The silence within him – the icy silence that has hardened him since he had lost his friends, his home, himself – it ebbs ever so slightly. And slowly, Roxas can feel himself releasing the things that has become so foreign to him. Warmth. Happiness. Hope.

Love.


	56. Chapter 29 (Part Two)

Cloud's eyes flick across the paper, one of many scattered across his desk inside King Mickey's castle. This paper is the newest letter from King Sephiroth on the progress of Roxas and vague details of the events that has transpired.

He didn't think anyone had the nerve to attack the Prince of Galtea, and he'd hate to see what the assassin looked like after his son slaughtered her.

Sighing, he sets the paper down and leans back in his chair. A gentle breeze wafts through the study, billowing the gossamer curtains and tickling his cheeks. He slowly smiles as he shuts his eyes.

"It would seem that the assassination was unsuccessful." He speaks, well aware of the footsteps padding towards him. Coming from the balcony.

"She was expendable. Her soul has been broken since the death of her sister." A calm, cool voice speaks. Soft, and wholly feminine.

"A death that _you_ started." Cloud says, his smile never wavering. He opens his eyes and looks towards the direction of the near silent footsteps.

The purple wrappings do wonders for that body. That toned, hardened body that has pleasured him for years. A body that he helped hone, and one that he has never grown tired of groping in dark corners. These past few weeks have been torturous for the both of them.

Removing the hood of her purple cloak, Tifa Lockhart saunters over towards the desk. She unclasps her cloak, letting it fall to the floor, dragging behind her. "But without that sacrifice, we wouldn't have been able to see Roxas' full power."

Her long-nailed fingers grip the back of the chair, and she swings her leg over his, straddling the seat of his pants. Her hands fall to his shoulders, her nails tickling his ears and caressing his cheek.

"We both made sacrifices," she purrs. "and in the end we gained what we wanted. What I'm most impressed is when the king so easily let you into his castle after your, impressive record of crime in his city."

"Desperation drives anyone to do desperate things."

Leaning down, Tifa's lips connect with Cloud's; the sensation hardening the seat of his pants, of which she takes pleasure in grinding against. He growls in pleasure.

"I find my joys only tempered by the fact that Axel thinks he's skilled in our craft." Tifa huffs, tossing her hair over to one side.

"I would focus more on how lucky you are that I didn't gain any infection from that rotting dungeon. You do your job _too_ well."

"As I would say to you, my love." Tifa smiles. "So our boy is doing well?"

"In accordance to the recent letters, so it would seem. But it's been another handful of weeks since I've received a letter and I'm growing concerned."

"Well he is king, my darling." Tifa leans down and nibbles on Cloud's ear, earning another growl of arousal. "Just promise me I get to life in here to when Roxas gets back."

"We'll be living like we did, my pet, and our son won't so recalcitrant when he returns."

"How so?"

"I've been working on a special project through our remaining Guild Leaders. And it's soon to be put into effect. Once I get word from the king."

"So long as he's still unaware of everything."

Cloud coldly chuckles. "For an Elven King he's rather naive."

While things had gotten more out of hand than they had planned, Tifa had played her part perfectly. He felt hesitant to give her the role of the bad parent, but Roxas needed someone to trust.

It began when Roxas turned thirteen, Cloud knew that his elven heritage would soon emerge. When he quickly climbed the ranks through the Guild, Cloud could see it. Meanwhile Tifa was raising her own Guild to become united with Cloud's and then they would have an army of the shadows.

Cloud's suspicions were only confirmed when he administered that serum to Roxas before he had him kill Ventus. He saw flashes of Roxas' ears, his elongated canines as he attempted to fight the serum.

But it wasn't a serum at all. It was a deadly poison that would've killed most men in seconds. It was a test, and Roxas had passed. His immortal blood is what fought off the poison, resulting in those nightmares as an aftermath.

After that, Cloud needed to send Roxas to Ivalice to let the king train him into controlling his abilities and perceptions, but he needed Roxas to trust him. So he connived and funneled Roxas to find Tifa, and after she played her role of a psychotic, a little too well, Roxas trusted Cloud again without hesitation.

Cloud is almost disappointed. He thought he had trained Roxas better than that. Perhaps elves aren't as bright as they many believe.

"For now I suppose that all we can do is wait." Cloud sighs. "Just keep playing along."

"Maybe I could find a career in acting after this." Tifa says with a toss of her hair.

"I think I prefer a courtesan." Cloud grins as he grips her bum as she continually rubs it against the hardened seat of his pants. "To see you in those tight dresses would be riveting."

Tifa giggles and pushes herself from him to sitting on the desk. "I hope these papers aren't important."

Cloud rises from his seat, and the hunger in his eyes is so wicked that Tifa squeals as he rips off her wrappings.


End file.
